


The Witch's Tale

by faerieincombatboots



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Kind of AU, because papa seems like a total sugar daddy who'd just buy his lovers nice shit, but with bdsm sprinkles, costume porn, i'll warn at the beginning of chapters, sex is mostly vanilla, so many fancy pimped out dresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-06-15 11:06:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerieincombatboots/pseuds/faerieincombatboots
Summary: Originally submitted to the Imagine Papa and the Ghouls blog on Tumblr, The Witch's Tale is a romantic, sexy story about Papa Emeritus III, and a witch who lives in the woods at the edge of a small-minded town. Vaguely set in the 19th century, definitely NSFW. I started it in 2016, and maybe one day it will be complete.





	1. Chapter 1: Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and I don't make any profit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, friends and neighbors, is an old story; a story most in the town of Oakfell dismiss as a mere folk tale, a tale told only in whispers by the light of a dying fire. But I'm here to tell you that it's true, that the fantastical events that Autumn really happened. Here, friends and neighbors, is the story of Papa Emeritus, and the Witch who stole his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything, I don't make a profit.

The Witch has just barely arrived at the market when she notices a commotion. A grand black coach, pulled by six large, black horses, and driven by strange men has pulled into the square, drawing excited murmurs from the townspeople. The Witch can see why. The men vary in height, and are all clad smartly in knee length black cassocks, trousers and sashes, embroidered with silver symbols. But what was really drawing stares were their silver mask, horned and made to resemble the faces of handsome men. Only the mouths were missing; a beautifully polished surface, where a pair of kissable lips ought to be. One of the men hops down from the driver’s seat, and opens the door to the carriage. A most magnificent creature steps out. A man, dressed opulently in vestments of black and gold, the chasuble lined with gorgeous purple satin, with a white mitre, emblazoned with an ornate inverted cross. Indeed, the inverted cross is everywhere, around the necks of the masked men, even on the door of the carriage. All were intersected with a great G.

The witch finds herself holding her breath. She feels suddenly tremulous, excited. She cannot take her eyes off of him. The man’s face is…painted? Yes, black and white markings that form rather a rather interesting skeletal design. He should intimidate her, have her cowed, and yet he does not frighten her. Not even his mismatched eyes, one leaf green and ringed in black, the other remarkably pale and bright, can unnerve her. If anything, there is something rather alluring about him. Oh, she knows what he is. The inverted crosses and horned masks are all a dead giveaway. These men were followers of Lucifer, The Fallen One. She wonders what they could possibly be doing in a small God fearing town like this one. And that was another thing, why aren’t any of the townspeople reacting to their presence with fear or outrage? These were the same people who whisper when they see her come into town, who refuse to cross her path, and even openly insult her on a daily basis. And she was naught more than an unmarried, lone woman who had some skill with herbal remedies.

The strange and beautiful man is speaking, his accent warm and humorous. She wishes she could discern what he is saying, but the townspeople around her are too loud, cheering and gossiping. He is gesturing too, arms wide and inviting, and she can snatch a few words from the air. "Searching". "Woman".

‘He is bewitching everyone here,’ she realizes, a feat she is wholly incapable of, contrary to popular gossip. She wonders if she is under his spell too, if that is why she is inexplicably drawn to him.

Then, their eyes meet. One pair mismatched, the other brown lock together, and ah, there is a moment of recognition. He stares as if he himself has been the one bewitched, as if he has been searching for her. She feels as if she has been waiting for him to find her. What a strange thought! What strange feelings! Overwhelmed, The Witch breaks their eye contact, turns on her heel and runs. She pushes her way through the crowd, and runs past emptied market stalls. All the customers and merchants are watching the strangers. It is not until she is crouched in an alley, panting and trying to slow her racing heart, that she realizes she cannot have been enchanted like the others. She broke away from his gaze. She got away. But how? How? A voice interrupts her thoughts.

“Miss?”

She looks up. One of the masked men is standing above her. His eyes show concern, and..fondness? It is as if he too has been looking for her, and is glad to have found her.

“I am the Nameless Ghoul they call Alpha,” he says, extending a hand. She accepts it, and finds that it is warm and slightly calloused. Very warm actually, as if fire emanated from his very being. He helps her up off the ground, and watches her straighten out her petticoats

“You can’t be nameless if they call you something," she says, archly.

“Indeed,” He says, chuckling softly. She has cheek, this one.  
“It is merely a title, from my days as a truly Nameless Ghoul,”

Now The Witch is curious, and longs to know more. About him, about the other strange men with him. She is about to ask when Alpha speaks again.

“Papa Emeritus saw you leave before he could extend his invitation. We are holding a ball tomorrow evening. All the ladies of this town are invited, especially you, he requests your presence in particular”

She finds herself blushing at the thought of Papa’s particular interest in her attendance at his party. For all she knew, this was merely an insincere line used to flatter, but it felt genuine enough to her. A ball. But what would she wear? She has a muslin gown she wears for Sabbats, and festivals. But that was nowhere near stylish or formal enough for a ball. She’s seen enough fashion plates to know.

“I cannot go,” She admits.  
“I have nothing suitable to wear. Tell Papa…Emeritus that I am sorry. I would have enjoyed it,”

Alpha watches the young woman’s eyes pitch to her boots in shame. Gently, he slides a finger under her chin and lifts her face to meet his eyes. She seems surprised by this touch, but does not flinch or draw away.

“Do not worry about that,” he says kindly.  
“I’m certain that once Papa is aware of your situation, he will make arrangements, and see that you are properly attired for tomorrow.”

This Papa Emeritus, this stranger, would be willing to make sure she is properly dressed for his ball? She is touched by this. Kindness from the opposite sex is not something she is used to in this town. Men here treated her with disdain and fear. They suspected her to be a witch on the grounds that she lived alone with a cat and knew herbal remedies. The women in town secretly respected her for her knowledge and skills, but she knew none of them would defend her from their men. The only person who openly befriended her was the local midwife. Kindness was a luxury to her.

“Tell Papa Emeritus that I thank him for his generosity.” she says, bowing her head. Then she adds:  
“My name is Sara.”

Alpha nods his head in acknowledgment, and then asks where she can be found.

“The cottage in the woods,” She says.  
“If not, I am in the forest itself, gathering,”

Alpha bows low, as if to a gentlewoman and not a poor, spinster witch. Then, he departs suddenly, with a wave of his hand. The witch named Sara stands alone in the alley now, desperately trying to sort out the turmoil in her heart.


	2. Chapter 2: Aether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group of strange men have arrived in The Witch's small town, and now she's been invited to a ball. Their strange and intriguing leader seems interested in her, and according to a not-so-nameless Ghoul, will provide her with the proper garments for such an occasion. But is this flamboyant fellow all talk? Or will he follow through?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no profit, I don't own anything. And everyone is supposed to be fictional.

The Witch and her family were nomadic by nature. For as long as she could remember, they moved from town to town, with their wagons and tents, her father doing odd jobs, and her mother telling fortunes and selling remedies. Then, when they outwore their welcome, they’d move on. It was all she'd ever known, and she wanted nothing more.  
But when Sara was seventeen, her family stopped in the town of Oakfell. It was here that she met a lad and fell in love. His name was Rob; he was kind, and not too bad to look upon. He seemed just as besotted as she, and made promises of eternal love and fidelity. There was even talk of marriage, and Sara elected to stay in Oakfell when her family moved to the next town, despite their misgivings. But the townspeople were suspicious of the strange girl, and the rumors about her began to spread. They said she was a witch (which was true, but they didn’t know that). That she soured milk, and sold their children to the faeries. Rob heard these rumors and became frightened; he chose to end their courtship, and thus broke her heart.

Now Sara was penniless and alone in a strange town. Staying in a once abandoned cottage that she found in the woods, she decided to make a new life for herself. She set up a brisk business selling her various herbal cures for female woes. She knew all kinds of secrets, everything from how to soothe menstrual cramps, how to arouse a flagging lover, and even how to prevent and terminate unwanted pregnancies. She formed a partnership with the local midwife, and became secretly valuable to the townswomen. They all came to her at one time or another, and as a result she knew some of the town’s darkest secrets. She was discreet, however, and had no intention of ever exploiting her knowledge.

But in all those years, she had closed her heart. She did not marry, she did not court, for who in Oakfell would ever love a woman suspected of being a witch? She still admired handsome faces, but love and desire were not a part of her life. She did not even take a lover at the Beltaine festival she traveled to each year; there was no one she considered risking another broken heart for. 

Sara does her marketing as quickly as she can, and goes home awash in thought. What had just happened? Why had she been so inexplicably drawn to this Papa Emeritus? Why was Alpha so kind to her? And how had she been impervious to their magic? When she arrives at her little cottage, her familiar, a black cat she called Arrow, senses a change in her human mother’s energy. She is unsettled and agitated. Every task she sets herself to fails miserably. She burns everything she tries to cook, and lacks patience for the garden or the bee boxes. The cat watches her flail about with vague interest, until the pair have bread and cheese for their dinner, Sara having given up on the idea of a hot meal. Then, to bed. She lays down in the little cot with the lavender scented sachet under the pillows, and hopes for the comfort of a good rest.

But there is no comfort. She dreams of pitch black hands with long gold nails tracing her secret places, running over her breasts and hips. She dreams of mismatched eyes gazing at her intently, of a musical voice purring in her ear. Sara awakes the next morning with her nightshift twisted around her, and her hand between her legs.

“Damn,” she whispers, rolling out of bed. She has been in turmoil since meeting the gaze of that Papa Emeritus. He has gone and woken something inside her, something that had been sleeping. She doesn’t know whether she wants to kiss him, or punch him, for causing all this emotional havoc. Then, she remembers that tonight is the night of the ball, but since no seamstresses or packages have arrived, she assumed Papa has not made any arrangements for her. She is not terribly surprised. Men are generally disappointing.

Her morning passes quietly. She does her chores as best as she can, and goes into the woods to do some gathering, trying not to think of Papa. Around noon, she returns, her basket filled with blackberries, when she sees a visitor in her yard. It is one of the Nameless Ghouls from the Square, holding several packages. He is having a staring contest with the cat, but he turns when he hears her footsteps. The cat wins the staring contest, and slinks away, already bored.

“Can I help you?” she asks, approaching.

“I am the Nameless Ghoul known as Omega,” He says. His eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen. Like the sky in early spring. She can sense him smiling at her behind the gleam of his mask.  
“Papa Emeritus sent me to deliver these gifts, so you may be suitably dressed for tonight,”

Sara is astonished. So he came through after all! But still, she is doubtful. No seamstress came to measure her, so how will any of it fit? She looks doubtfully at the fine black boxes, embossed with silver Grucifixes, and at the Ghoul holding them. Then, she remembers her manners.

“How kind. Please come in,” she says, opening her rickety old gate, and gesturing to the door. Omega strolls in, and sets the packages down on her scarred wood table (after she has hastily removed the remains of breakfast, several books, and the cat) and looks around. Her cottage is small, and rustic. Herbs hang drying from the rafters, and a black cauldron sits over the fire. Above the hearth is a pentacle made from willow branches and red ribbons. Painted on the wall above her bed is a blue rendering of the triple goddess moon.

‘So she is a witch,’ thinks the Ghoul. ‘But not the kind we expected. And yet Papa is so certain she is the one, the reason we’ve been called here. She feels right, but we’ll have to see what happens at the ball,”

He looks at the witch herself, puttering about the cottage trying to neaten the clutter. She is of middling height, and plump, with an abundant chest and wide hips. Dark haired, olive skinned, with a full, almost sulky mouth. Not too bad to look upon at all. Quite pretty, actually. Satisfied with her arranging, Sara opens the first box, holding her breath expectantly. Inside are undergarments. Silk chemise and drawers. A red corset made from stiffer stuff than her everyday bodices. Fine stockings, also made of silk. She suppresses a giggle. He sent her underthings? The next box contains a pair of black evening boots, with neat silver trim, and pearl buttons. She nods with approval, and goes to open the final box. What’s inside makes her gasp. The dress is an utter confection. White silk, with an overlay of matching gossamer shot through with silver threads. The neck is cut low, to expose her bosom and shoulders, and the sleeves are mere puffs of more matching gossamer. The bodice is embroidered with little silver stars.

“It’s too beautiful,” she breaths.  
“But how do I know it will fit me? Any of it? Your Papa Emeritus cannot know my measurements,”

“Papa has an excellent eye for the female form. All he had to do was glance at you,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling in merriment.

'Oh, he did more than glance,’ Thinks Sara. 'He gazed into the very center of my soul, and set a fire in my belly. To call that stare a glance, is to call the ocean a puddle,’

Omega watches her face flush, as she recalls the way Papa looked at her yesterday. He grins behind the mask. There’s no denying it, she wants Papa just as much as he wants her. Good, this is good. 

“Tell Papa that I am that I am grateful for his kindness, and that I…look forward to seeing him tonight,” She says this last part shyly.

Omega bows deeply, first to her, then to the cat. Sara can’t help but grin at this obeisance to her familiar.

“We will be very glad of your presence,” He says cheerfully. Then, with three flamboyant stomps, he vanishes into thin air.

Sara stares at the vacant space where the Ghoul stood only moments ago. Arrow circles the spot several times, sniffing, wondering where her new admirer has gone. Their amazement is brief, however, and witch and cat quickly return to their respective tasks. The cat starts to chew on her toes, and Sara goes to get ready for that Papa Emeritus’ ball.


	3. Chapter 3: Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the proper attire, The Witch can attend Papa's ball, but what awaits her there? Will her questions be answered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, I don't make a profit. This chapter is where the action really starts.

Sara heads into town to fetch the midwife, a widow known as Old Nan. She can trust no one else to help her into the fantastical gown Papa Emeritus has sent her, for the woman as been her only friend and comfort all these years. After Rob broke her heart, and she found herself alone in a strange town, Nan cared for her when she was too weak with misery to get out of bed. To repay her, Sara would gather herbs and make remedies for the midwife to take to her mothers. In time, she started accompanying the woman to births, and Nan would assist her with more discreet, and perhaps scandalous tasks. An unmarried girl finds herself pregnant before her wedding, and not with her fiance’s child? Sara and Nan would take care of it quickly, and with gentleness. A poor woman has had her sixth child, and does not want any more? That was in their area of expertise too. Sara never asked why Old Nan did not treat her with disdain like the rest of the town, why she did not begrudge her presence as other women did. The crone’s kindness was an oasis in the lonely desert of her life.

As Sara walks through the town square, she listens to the chatter and gossip. Apparently, the ball is going to be held at the abandoned estate of a long dead noble family remembered for their wickedness and corruption. Their last heir had died fifty years ago from syphilis and the building had been left to rot. Now these mysterious strangers have moved into the dilapidated old estate, though no one knows why. 

Back at the cottage, Old Nan helps her with the corset and gown. Pulling laces tight, and slipping pearl buttons through their holes. Omega was right, everything fits her perfectly. Nothing too big, nothing too tight. The dress displays her full bosom to best advantage, and the while the skirts are full, they are surprisingly light. She imagines the fabric being woven by faerie women, and stitched by supernatural seamstresses. She is determined to find out how Papa obtained this magical confection. After dressing, she splashes rosewater onto her neck, hair and in the well of her breasts. She rubs a concoction of beeswax, honey and berry juice onto her lips, and Old Nan combs her wavy tresses and pins them back loosely. For jewelry, she only has a pair of freshwater pearl earrings she received as Yule present at sixteen, but they will do fine. Finished with her toilette at last, Sara can hardly contain her excitement. She would see him again, and perhaps speak with him, maybe even dance with him. She could find out more about who he was, and what he was doing here…

“How do you intend to get there? You have no horse, and you’d ruin that dress if you walk. So what will ye do?” Old Nan asks, interrupting her reverie about the evening ahead.

She had not thought about that. In all her anticipation, she had not even considered it. Her stomach drops to her knees. All dressed up with no place to go, she sinks into a chair, feeling nothing but despair in her heart. The world turns horribly gray, and she looks blankly into her lap. But before the tears that have started to well in her eyes can spill, she hears the clatter of a carriage and horses in her yard. Old Nan goes to the window and announces that one of those strange men has arrived, that he has the black coach with the silver Grucifix.

Sara laughs softly, wiping her eyes. What a stroke of luck!

“It’s just like that story about the scullery maid who slept in ashes, and went to a ball in disguise. But what sort of prince have I found?” she asks, shaking her head in bemusement. She stands up, and steps outside. The Ghoul who stands before her is tall and elegant. Straight backed, he reminds her of a maypole. The thought amuses her, but she tries not to giggle.

“I am the Nameless Ghoul known as Air. Papa Emeritus has sent me to fetch you for tonight’s ball,” he says with a courtly bow.  
“And he sends this, with his compliments,”

Air produces a black velvet box. He opens it, and nestled in the matching black silk is a silver comb with a design of shooting stars, studded in moonstones. Sara has never been given anything so beautiful, or costly.

“It is absolutely lovely,” she whispers, running her fingers over the etched stars, and glistening gems.

“Allow me,” Air says, gliding behind her.  
“May I?”

Sara nods her consent, and the Ghoul gently slides the comb into her softly gathered curls. She gives an involuntary shiver when the comb’s teeth lightly scrape her scalp.

“Perfect,” Air says moving back around to face her.  
“Now, come with me please. Papa is waiting for you,”

She takes his offered hand, finding it cool and soft, He leads her to the coach, and helps her in. Sara looks out at her Nan and waves. The old midwife nods, her mouth a tight line. Her friend is worried about her.

“I’ll be alright! I promise!” Sara calls as they pull away from her cottage. Yes, she’ll be alright. At least she hopes so. But anything could happen.

She’s never ridden in anything so fine as this. She feels like a real lady, riding in a coach lined with wine colored velvet, with little crystal chandeliers shaking overhead as they make their way down the dirt road. Papa Emeritus has been so kind, so generous and she hasn’t even spoken a single word to him!

Air is a quick and capable coachman, and in no time at all, they arrive at the old estate. The exterior looks the same as it did when she explored last spring. The gardens are overgrown, the fountains broken, and vines climb the faded red brick. Air helps her out of the coach, and leads her inside. Inside…it has been completely restored to its former glory. She gasps at the splendor of gilded moldings and sparkling chandeliers. Portraits of former owners stare down at her.

Who are these men? She wonders as the Ghoul takes her through the opulent foyer, and then through the heavy oak doors leading into the ballroom. In only a day they have renovated a crumbling manor, and gifted her with a dazzling ball gown. In only a day! Clearly, Papa Emeritus has abilities and powers that she cannot imagine. She confirms in her mind that they are more than mere men.

It seems that the entire town is attending this ball, the ladies gowned in every color of the rainbow, the men in formal suits. Their reaction when they see her is not surprising. As Air leads her across the polished marble floors, she is greeted by whispers and glares. Where did she get a dress like that? How dare she be allowed in here? Maybe Papa could avoid their scrutiny by bewitching them, but she is not so lucky. Air notices the stir Sara’s arrival has caused. He leans close and murmurs softly:

“Pay them no mind, Papa Emeritus will be glad to see you,”

He is taking her to him! Her heart pounds against her rib cage, and she fights back the urge to turn tail and run away. Anxiety and desire battle inside her, and she tries to stay calm. She takes a few deep and fortifying breaths. She can do this. She can do this. She can’t do this. But before she knows it, she is standing before him. He is wearing his opulent vestments and mitre, and a pair of tight black gloves embellished with gold fingernails. She is reminded of last night’s dream, of the black hands with their gold nails, exploring her breasts and bottom, her thighs and sex. A wave of embarrassment washes over her. He will read her mind and know.

“Signorina,” he says warmly, taking her hand. At this touch, a warmth floods her body, making her dizzy.  
“I am Papa Emeritus, and Alpha tells me your name is Sara. I am honored to meet one as beautiful as you.”

He kisses her hand, and the beautiful shock of that contact travels up her arm, and right into her heart. And places much lower than that, besides. She studies his face. His mouth is full and sensual, she can see that even underneath the paint. She wants that mouth to claim every inch of her. She is certain that he knows this. Boldly, as if reading her thoughts, her turns her hand over, and moves his mouth in a trail of soft kisses up her wrist and forearm, stopping at the soft skin on the inside of her elbow. Then Papa leans in close and whispers in her ear, a seductive growl:

“Dance with me, cara mia,”

Sara realizes music has been playing this whole time. A haunting waltz she has never heard before. She looks into his eyes, his gorgeous eyes. They are close enough to kiss.

“I would love to,” she says in a hushed, trembling voice.

But as he leads her out to join the other couples, she confesses that she cannot dance. Well, that’s not entirely true. She has frolicked around Maypoles, clutching green ribbons in her hand. She has leaped over fires at Beltaines and Solstices. And on some nights, she has shed her clothes and danced sky clad in the soft glow of moonlight. But the dances of the gentry are foreign to her.

“Do not fret, my lovely,” Papa reassures, patting her hand.  
“I will lead, all you need do is follow,”

“I will not be graceful,” she admits.

“Relax, give yourself to the music, and trust me,” He purrs, stroking her cheek gently with a gloved hand. The gold nails brush against her skin, making her close her eyes in desire.

Papa then takes one of her hands in his, and guides the other to his shoulder. Then, he places his remaining hand on her waist, and pulls her in close. A delighted shiver runs through her as her breasts press firmly against his chest. He notices this little quake, and smiles, pleased he has this effect on her. They begin to glide across the floor; Sara is clumsy for the first few steps, just as she warned him, trying not to trip over her own feet and skirts, but Papa is reassuring and patient with her.

“Give in to the music, let it possess you,” he reminds her, gently.

She does. She surrenders herself completely, and soon she has a feel for the music and steps and they move effortlessly together. Papa’s eyes are on her the entire time, taking in the curve of her mouth and the swell of her breasts coming out of the neckline of her gown. Her skin seems to burn under his gaze, yes, she feels feverish. It’s lust, and she knows it, and she’s certain he knows it too, knows how much she wants him. She wonders if he can feel the heat practically radiating off her skin. Other dancers swirls around them, and experience with these people tells her that they’re probably whispering about her and Papa practically fucking each other with their eyes.

Suddenly, he leans in close, his mouth brushing against her ear, and whispers:

“Come with me,”

“Yes,” She replies. Simple as that. A mere ‘yes’, and he leads her off the floor, and out of the ballroom. Down the drafty corridors, up the grand stairs. He takes her into what appears to be an ancient library and they are alone, at last. A candle casts a faint glow, and Papa gently takes her chin in his exquisitely gloved hand, and lifts her face to his. She has no choice but to look at him; she sees lust, and something more than that, something deeper, glinting in his eyes.

Papa’s mouth presses gently against hers, almost tentatively, waiting to see how she responds. Sara responds only with eagerness. She twines her arms around his neck, and returns the kiss. It registers somewhere in the back of her mind that she can neither taste nor feel greasepaint on his lips, but at that moment it doesn’t matter, not in the slightest.

Papa growls in pleasure, and grabs her by the waist, pulling her closer to him, pressing her against the length of his body. Then, he runs his tongue over lips, tasting her, like salt and honey. She opens her mouth for him, and his tongue plunges in. Sara hasn’t been kissed like this a long time. He tastes like wine, and something else, she can taste his hunger for her. She moans into his mouth at this realization.

‘He wants me,’ she thinks. 'He wants me so bad I can fucking taste it,’.

Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, leaving her bereft and panting.

“Sit on that table,” he commands, his voice gruff with desire.

She walks over to the gleaming mahogany table, runs her hand along the silky wood. These skirts may be light as air, but they are incredibly bouffant and the witch isn't sure how to maneuver herself in this situation.

“I’m not sure I can hop up on my own in this dress,” she says, blushing.  
“Do you think you could help me?”

Papa chuckles, and without a word, picks her up and perches her on the table’s edge. She’s about to ask him why he wants her there when he kisses her for again, hard this time, grabbing handfuls of her skirts and pushing them to her waist. There is a shock of cool air on her thighs, and he pries them apart gently, standing between them so he can get closer to her. Sara instinctively wraps her legs around his waist, and grabs the front of his robes, holding him to her.

“You little witch,” Papa growls, breaking the kiss.  
“You want to play? That’s fine, we’ll play,”

He bends his head towards her neck, and begins to kiss her there softly, teasingly, before starting to suck and bite the soft skin there. Her cries of pleasure are music to his ears, and encourage him further. He presses his hips against the tenderness between her legs, and cups both breasts in his hands. The witch is aware of something hard pressing against her through the thin silk of her drawers. She knows what it is, and she is filled with a combination of arousal, and anxiety. She is woefully inexperienced, and has never been this close to a man before, been touched like this before. As he continues to rub against her, she bites her lip. The friction is driving her insane, she must either push him away, or demand that he take her right now, right on this table. It’s a tempting idea, and as the delicious ache inside her grows, it’s one that’s becoming harder to resist.

Papa stops thrusting against her, and slips a hand under the froth of her skirts. His mouth does not stop it work on her throat as the golden nails of his gloves trace lightly along her thighs, moving closer to her heat. When his hand gently, but possessively cups her mound, her anxiety overrides her lust, and she is suddenly overwhelmed. it's too much for her, Sara panics and shoves Papa away. He loses his balance, and falls on his back. Quick as she can, she hops off the table while he's stunned.

“I’m can’t! I’m sorry! I just can’t!” she cries, rushing from the room.

More surprised than upset, Papa stands, straightens his miter and goes to catch her. She is frightened, and he wants to find her, so he can learn why. Meanwhile, Sara pounds down the corridor. Her lungs are bursting, her heart is pounding, and her corset isn’t doing her any favors. But she must, must get away. He's going to be furious with her for spurning him, and then knocking him over like a ninepin.

Papa hunts her silently, following her as she makes her way down the grand staircase. She looks back, see him, and her expression is one of terror. He realizes she is afraid of his potential wrath. If only he could catch up to her and explain! He is not angry with her in the slightest, his heart is only full of concern. To go from amorous to panicked so quickly, he wants to know what is wrong, and how he can amend it.

She runs past the ballroom, where the party is still in full swing. She hears laughter and music. She continues to run through the foyer, and throwing all her weight at them, she is out the front door. The night air kisses her face like a blessing, and there on the marble steps, she decides that it is safe enough to catch her breath. Running in a corset hurts.  
But it's not long before she hears footsteps behind her. She turns, and there’s Papa Emeritus reaching out to her. She does not see the tender concern in his eyes. She only expects retribution, and anger.

“Please!” she gasps, tears of panic welling in her eyes.  
“Just leave me alone!”

Papa does as she asks and drops his arms, and backs away. He cannot force her to stay where she does not want to be. Dejected, he lets her go, and watches her disappear into the night.


	4. Chapter 4: Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After panicking and knocking over Papa Emeritus during a moment of passion, The Witch is sure she's ruined everything. But has she? And will she give in to her desires?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is incredibly NSFW. I also own nothing, make no profit and am nothing but a humble fan churning out some fun stories for other fans.

Once she is home safe in her cottage, Sara allows herself to cry. She undresses, throwing the magnificent dress and it’s underpinnings in a heap on the floor, curls up in a ball on her bed and sobs bitterly. She’s gone and ruined everything. For the first time in years she has felt passion, pleasure, and she threw it all away. So stupid! She should have…she should have let him…why did she panic? She mentally berates herself long into the night before she finally drifts into sleep, exhausted. As she slumbers, Papa Emeritus returns to her dreams. No roving hands this time, but rather, he stands before her, hands out, palms open. Behind him, the town of Oakfell burns, and the flames are moving closer.

“We are made for each other,” he says, fervently.  
“Join me, my love. Burn with me,”

The next morning, Sara is staring morosely into a mug of tea, when she hears a knock on her door. Slowly, she gets up to answer, expecting Old Nan, or a woman needing a remedy for cramps, or troubles with breast milk. But it is neither, it is a Nameless Ghoul. She is only mildly surprised by this, and wonders what he could possibly want.

“I am the Nameless Ghoul they call Water,” he says with a short bow. He is a compact fellow, calm in disposition, but Sara can sense passion lurking underneath. Water is an appropriate name for this Ghoul, and like the others, he is oddly endearing.

“Papa Emeritus sent me to make sure you were alright. He mentioned that you-” Water begins to say before she interrupts him.

“He is not angry?" She blurts out.

The Ghoul cocks his head at her quizzically.

“Angry? Of course not. He is only concerned for you. You left the ball in quite a hurry.” he says gently.  
Sara's heart leaps in her chest. He is not angry! Perhaps she can explain, tell him why she panicked and fled. She is certain he would understand if he knew the truth.

“Water, please tell Papa that I will meet with him today. I would like to speak to him, and apologize for any distress and trouble I may have caused,” she says. Then, she steps outside, bypassing the Water Ghoul with a soft “excuse me,”. She walks over to a rosebush, and using a penknife hanging from her chatelaine, cuts the last of her summer roses.

“Give him this,” she says, holding out the red petaled flower.  
“As a token of gratitude for his kindness, and…my affection,”

Water nods, smiling under his mask, and takes the flower. He gives her a cheery wave, and is gone. After he leaves, Sara prepares herself for the assignation with the same gravity with which she prepares for rituals. Slow, purposeful and calm. She must be calm, even though her heart is hammering in her chest, and she is close to fainting. She fills a basin with cool water and washes slowly and methodically. She dabs sandalwood oil to her skin, careful not to put any where Papa’s mouth might make contact. For she is certain that she is going to give herself to him. She’s been a virgin quite long enough, thank you. And she wants him. By the Goddess she wants him. She’s never desired anyone like this before; whenever she’s around him she feels like she’s on fire. The Church would tell her that she’s feeling the very fires of Hell lap at her skin, but she doesn’t belong to The Church. Their words and warnings mean nothing to her.

Sara goes to clothes trunk at the foot of her bed, thinking about these growing feelings for Papa Emeritus. There was more to it than raw lust. There was a potential for genuine affection, and maybe even love. For she had sensed in Papa a tenderness, and she knew intuitively that she could trust him. She slips on her festival dress, a soft, shell pink muslin thing she wears for summer Sabbats. It is so finely woven as to be nearly sheer, a decent piece she paid actual coin to have made. Over it, she laces her black velvet bodice, making sure it pushed her breasts up invitingly, and nipped in her waist just so. Dressed so enticingly, Papa will not be able to resist her charms. Then, she throws on her cloak. No one in this little town had ever seen her wear this dress, and it's just as well, they would be scandalized. Besides, the sky has a gray cast to it, and there a tension in the air. A storm is coming. It’s best to wear her cloak.

Thunder rumbles in the distance as Sara hurries to the old estate. She knows a shortcut through the woods that will get her there quicker than the main road. She moves quickly, practically running, trying to beat the weather, but also so painfully excited at the prospect of seeing Papa. Soon she will see him, and explain everything. Then she will offer herself to him, and if all goes well, he will have her.

Fat raindrops are starting to fall. Papa looks out the window facing the courtyard, and see a dark cloaked figure moving across the cobblestones. He holds his breath. It is Sara. She has come to him, just as Water promised when he came into Papa’s newly restored presence room, bearing a red rose, and a sweet message.

“Soon, cara mia,” he whispers, running white gloved fingers across the cool glass.  
“Come find your Papa Emeritus, and we will be as one…”

Sara lets herself into the grand old building. She has no idea where Papa might be. Should she look for him, or should she wait for him to find her? Is she to be the huntress, or is she the prey? Is he about to pounce? Her gut, her heart (and other parts), tells her to search upstairs. Perhaps he is near the library, for the sake of familiarity, she shall start there. 

Papa can hear her moving about downstairs, senses her coming closer. He knows her heart must be pounding right now, from a dizzying mixture of anxiety and desire. Should he seek her out and meet her? Or stay by this window and let her find him? Eventually, impatience gets the better of him, and he abandons his spot by the window, and sets out to find her.

Sara’s gotten herself lost. Nothing about these halls looks familiar, everything looks different by daylight. She walks backward, trying to remember the way she came, just in case she needs to go back and search another part of the manor. Suddenly, she backs up into something solid and warm. Two hands grasp her shoulders, and she screams in surprise. She spins around, only to find herself face to face with Papa Emeritus. He is not wearing his usual vestments. Instead, he has donned a rather dapper black suit, and white waistcoat. An inverted cross, beautifully ornate graces the breast of the jacket. White gloves and spats add the final, painfully elegant touch. He looks ready for an evening at the opera.

“Papa,” she breathes, relieved to have found him (or did he find her?). He takes her hand, and gently kisses the tips of her fingers.

“Sara,” he whispers in return.  
“I am pleased to see you. I received your message, you wished to speak with me?”

Sara takes a deep breath. It’s now or never, she has to tell him.

“I’m sorry I panicked last night. I became…overwhelmed by your attentions. You s-see, I’ve never had a lover before,” she says, trying to speak clearly, her nerves getting the better of her.  
“I’m a virgin,”

Papa’s eyes widen at her confession. A virgin! Why hadn’t he considered that? No wonder she’d become frightened, it had been too much, too fast. He should have moved more slowly, controlled himself a little better!

“Oh my dear, I am the one who should be apologizing, not you. I am sorry. Had I known, I would have been more tender with you,” He purrs, cupping her face gently.

“It doesn’t matter now, I forgive you” She says, stepping back and loosening the tie to her cloak.  
“What matters now is that I want you. I ache for your touch, Emeritus,”

At that, she drops the cloak, revealing her scandalous festival dress. Papa’s eyes darken in lust as he takes in her bare shoulders, the swell of her breasts rising from her neckline, and the muslin clinging to her hips. Silently he thanks Satan for sending him to this little town, so he could find this beautiful treasure. Papa Emeritus holds out his arms to her, and she goes to him. Their mouths crash together, and she melts into his embrace as his hands rove down her waist and hips to cup her round bottom. Sara feels him go hard, feels it pressing against her, but this time she isn’t nervous, only painfully excited. Warmth floods her entire body, and she finds that she feels rather dizzy. Then, Papa breaks the kiss, and runs a finger down her collarbone. He looks into her eyes, the pupils dilated with lust.

“Let us go somewhere more comfortable, eh?” He purrs. Sara nods furiously, and in a swift movement he scoops her into his arms. She is surprised by his strength. She is not a dainty girl by any means, but he carries her effortlessly, pausing only to plant passionate kisses on her lips or the angles of her face. At last he brings her to a luxurious bedroom, his own, in fact. The bed is large, with a frame of dark oak intricately carved with designs of naked, cavorting nymphs and goat-legged men. Its curtains are a heavy wine red velvet, the canopy fringed with gold. Papa sets her down gently, runs his fingers through her dark curls.

‘Are you afraid?” He asks. The whole way to his room he’d felt her tremble softly, felt the little tremors as he held her. He had wondered if they were borne of desire or fear, perhaps a heady mix of both.

“Should I be?” she smiles.

Papa chuckles and removes his gloves and jacket. Rain is pounding against the windows now, but a fire crackles merrily, lending a coziness. He pulls her to him, holding her tightly.

“Only if you want me to frighten you,” he growls softly.

He bends his head and puts his mouth to her throat. As he begins to bless it with kisses, his fingers find the laces of her bodice and begins their work. Sara sighs, and laces her fingers into his jet black hair. His kisses have turned to little nips. She’s never been so aroused in her life, it’s a wonder she’s still on her feet. Papa is already proving good with his hands too, for in no time at all he has completely unlaced, removed and flung her bodice across the room. This leaves her clad in naught but the sheer muslin dress.

“Before we go any further, I need to know that I have your full consent.” He says, gently, running a hand over one of her breasts, teasing the nipple through the thin cloth.

“You do,” Sara says, stepping away, albeit reluctantly. She pushes her dress down over her shoulders, past her wide hips, letting it pool at her feet. She waits for his reaction, her heart in her throat. What will he think of her plumpness? The stretchmarks racing over her round belly and thick thighs? His silence only feeds her anxiety, but when she looks into his eyes she see the truth. He is entranced by her. He looks ready to devour her.

“Get on the bed,” He growls, moving towards her, undressing as he does so. She obliges him, sliding almost shyly under the covers. Papa is completely naked now, and she lets her eyes wander over his form. Slender, and well-made. She cannot help but focus her gaze on his hard length. Its size is quite…substantial, and she finds herself slightly intimidated by it. Slowly, Papa pulls back the covers, exposing her to him fully.

“Do not hide yourself from me. I would gaze upon your beauty,” He says smoothly, climbing into bed beside her.  
“You are a goddess. Allow me to worship you,”

He kisses her then, letting his tongue push past her lips and entwine with hers. Sara’s hands run over his shoulders and back, down his chest. She marvels at the smoothness of his skin, and revels in the taste of his mouth. If she had any doubts, they are now destroyed, replaced by pure, burning need. Papa’s hands find her breasts, and massage them gently. His deft fingers begin to tease her nipples and at this touch, a glorious ache begins to build between her legs, making her keen and whine into his mouth in tormented ecstasy. The sound of her cries delight him to no end. Continuing to torture her, he moves his mouth down her neck and collarbones, until his lips stop at the breasts he has been worshiping. His attentions have hardened her nipples into stiff peaks, and he encloses his mouth around one and starts to lick, nibble and suck. He can feel her fingers grip his hair gently; she is squirming under him and continuing to make such divine noises. After a moment, he lifts his head from her heaving breasts, and goes to kiss her again.

“Why’d you stop?” Sara pants against his lips.  
“That was…I’ve never...”

Papa chuckles, trailing his hand down her stomach, her hip.

“Patience, beloved, I have more pleasures to show you,” he purrs.  
“Now open your legs for me. Let me see your hidden beauty,”

She spreads her thighs slowly, assuming he must be ready to take her fully. She can only hope he will be gentle. She's been warned of men who are utterly indifferent to the needs of their lover, whether it's pleasure or pain.

“Lovely,” Papa sighs, gazing upon her folds and the silken curls surrounding them, while he runs a hand slowly along her thigh. Then he notices her facial expression. Eyes shut tightly, almost grimacing. Realizing she’s frightened, he stops his hand and asks what’s wrong.

“Nothing. Please, just get it over with,” she says, gripping the sheets under her.  
“Just…be gentle with me.”

Papa is taken aback. Does she really expect him to just…roughly deflower her, with no regard to her comfort or pleasure?

“No, no, that is not how I do things,” he soothes, stroking her hands until they loosen, and her face until she opens her eyes.  
“I am going to make sure you are completely ready before I make you mine, to do anything less would be to insult you,”

Sara is genuinely touched by this vow. She is more than a conquest to him, she knows this now. Emboldened, she takes his hand and leads it to her inner thigh.

“Show me,” she commands, meeting his gaze. His eyes burn with lust, and a painfully erotic cunning. He nods at her, gives her a dirty, knowing little wink.

Softly, his fingertips start to stroke her silky folds, his touch light and teasing. She thinks about times she has explored her own body, and brought about her own satisfaction. His touch feels similar to that, yet at the same time, it is entirely different. More exciting, perhaps. Papa finds the little pearl above her entrance, making her gasp and buck her hips a little. Slowly, he circles it with one finger, watching her intently as she closes her eyes and gasps in rapture. He bends down, and covers her open mouth with his, pushing his tongue against hers. As he kisses her, he gently slides a finger inside her.

“This will make it easier when I claim you entirely,” he says, his voice becoming husky at the warmth and feel of her. He continues to caress her, rubbing and stroking her most sensitive spots both inside and out. Pleasure is mounting deep inside her, and she knows she's getting closer to the culmination.

“Don’t stop,” She moans.  
“Don’t you dare stop,”

Papa responds to this command by cupping a breast with a free hand and capturing her neck with his mouth. He bites down softly, and relishes her happy cries. A second finger quickly slips inside her, and soon enough, Sara comes, a sensation that makes her think of a blooming rose, off a great tidal wave. Spasm after spasm rocks her core, making her hips rise off the bed, and tearing ecstatic moans and cries from her throats. As soon as it subsides, Papa lowers himself onto her, settling between her legs.

“I can wait no longer,” he pants, rubbing the head of his cock against her folds.  
“I need to possess you,”

“Yes,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and neck, bracing herself for pleasure or pain.

Papa Emeritus slowly and gently thrusts inside her. Sara cries out; Papa’s ministrations had prepared her for this moment, but there is still a slight sensation of being stretched and opened. It is not as bad as she expected, though.

“Are you alright?” he croons, stroking her face. He doesn't want to hurt her.

“Yes,” she gasps, wrapping her legs around his waist.  
“You can move now, you can make love to me, Emeritus,”

Papa kisses her passionately, and happily obliges her. He starts out slowly, savoring the slickness and tight grip of her heat. He can't remember the last time becoming one with a lover felt this good.

“My love,” he groans.  
“You feel exquisite,”

Not knowing how to respond to that kind of praise, she grabs his face and pulls him in close, so she can hungrily press her mouth to his. The discomfort has faded, leaving only indescribable pleasure. She starts to move her hips against him, matching him thrust for thrust.

“Yesss” he growls, quickening his pace, driving into her more forcefully.  
“Yes my witch, that’s what I like…”

Sara responds to him by moaning, and tightening her grip on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. She’s finds that she enjoys this harder rhythm of lovemaking, and Papa growling in her ear, as they move together. Then, he abruptly throws her legs over his shoulders, and this new angle allows him to brush against a most sensitive spot inside her. Sara cries out at this new sensation, but it is a cry of pure delight.

“You like it like this?” he grunts.  
“You like it when I find your sweet spots, my little witch?

She cannot answer him. That delicious tension is building up inside her again, and all she can do is moan helplessly at this onslaught of pleasure. Papa Emeritus concludes that she does indeed like it when he finds her sweet spots. Good, if he can last just a bit longer, they’ll literally come together as one. He slows his pace, and deftly reaches between them to tease her swollen nub, bringing her to the very brink of orgasm.

“Emeritus!” She manages to gasp. A little more, oh gods just a little more…

He abruptly stops, and resumes his previous speed. This pushes Sara over the edge, she comes, and she comes hard. As the spasms fade, she hears Papa’s breaths become harsher, and then with a final satisfied growl, a look of utter transcendence crosses his face. She briefly consider the consequences of letting him finish inside her, but those thoughts are pushed aside when he gives several hard, final thrusts that make her cry out his name one more time. And then it is over. He lowers himself to kiss her, first her lips, then eyes and cheeks. Her forehead is also blessed by his trembling mouth.

“Thank you,” he whispers reverently.  
“I am honored to have shared this pleasure with you.”

Sara gazes up at him; his raven wing hair has fallen into his face in a rather dashing and oddly endearing manner. He heart melts at this, and at the tenderness she see in his eyes. Briefly, she allows herself to think of love.

“I am glad it was you,” she says softly, pushing a lock of hair off his forehead.

He kisses her again, then rolls off her and pulls her into the curve of his body, a warm and comforting embrace. Outside, it is still raining, the storm raging beautifully. The sound is soothing, and as Papa holds her, a feeling of contentment washes over the witch. She has never felt more complete or happy than in this moment. She wonders if there is something she should say, but her mouth can’t seem to find the right words.

“You’re quiet, my dear heart” Papa murmurs, burying his nose into the bouquet of her hair. Sandalwood and sweat.  
“Are you alright? Do you have regrets?”

“Never,” Sara says turning to face him.  
“It is only that there are no words for the feelings in my heart,”

He kisses her heartily at this admission, and chuckles.

“Are they feelings of joy?” He asks, his hand idly playing with one of her breasts, teasing the nipple into a stiff peak.

“Yes,” she sighs, writhing under his touch. She is surprised at how quickly her body wants again.

“And love?” he whispers huskily, moving his hand lower, gently cupping her mound.

“Yes…” she sighs again, parting her legs to grant him further access.  
“There’s love there too,”

Then she surrenders to him, to desire, and to her feelings completely.


	5. Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After giving into her desire and becoming Papa's lover, the Witch is surprised by a visitor at her cottage. Has she been found out? Can she avoid scandal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, profit off nothing. This chapter is also incredibly NSFW.

When the storm is over, Papa Emeritus reluctantly gets out of bed. He has business to attend to, and he needs to see what the Ghouls are up to. They can be a pack of rascals, especially Alpha. One can only imagine what sort of shenanigans they've gotten up to while he's been...occupied.

“They’ve been quiet,” He says, searching for his clothes.  
“Too quiet,”

Sara watches him dress, the body she has become so well acquainted with disappearing beneath the layers of his suit. She has her own tasks waiting for her. The cat needs to be fed, there are potions to be brewed, the bee boxes need tending, and she is certain Old Nan will be stopping by to check on her. But she does not want to leave, if it were possible, she could stay in this bed forever. She tells Papa this, shyly, twisting the bed sheets in her fingers.

“I know,” he says shrugging on his gracefully shrugging on his jacket.  
“I hate to leave our little nest too, but duty calls, eh?”

He extends a hand and helps her from the bed, and right into his arms. The satin of his suit feels strange and wonderful against her bare skin, and she wraps herself around him, plastered against him. She sighs into his chest, a bittersweet little sound that melts his heart; that nearly weakens his resolve.

“Don’t worry my little love,” He croons, peppering her face and neck with kisses.  
“You’ll see me again soon enough. I imagine you’ve been meaning to ask me quite a few questions, but have been otherwise…distracted,”

“Distracted indeed,” she says, extricating herself from his embrace, having put responsibility before pleasure.  
“Now let me dress, you rogue, or we’ll end up in bed again,”

Papa chuckles at this, and admires her curves as she bends to retrieve her clothes. He's thrown away his sense of duty, and is starting to think maybe they should return to the still warm and rumpled bed. He moves in behind her and slowly caresses the fleshy curves of her bottom.

“That wouldn’t be a bad thing, you know,” He growls, his ministrations becoming more insistent. Sara leaps away, just out of his reach. Duty before pleasure, she cannot neglect her chores any longer.

“Oh no no no,” she scolds, though her tone is teasing.  
“Duty calls, remember? You have things that must be done, and so do I,”

She dresses quickly, pulling her shift over her head, and boots on her feet. Then, she allows Papa to lace her bodice for her. He kisses her the entire time, tongue gently probing her mouth, teeth nipping her lips as he pulls the ribbons tightly. She knows he’s trying to seduce her back onto the bed, and while she would dearly love to be back in those sheets, she resists all the same. Duty before pleasure.

“Lovely,” He purrs when he finishes the task, admiring his work. His fingertips brush the exposed tops of her breasts.  
“Shall I walk you to the door?”

Sara allows that she would like that very much, and so they leave his bedroom and walk down the old corridors together, picking up her discarded cloak along the way. They move slowly, partially to extend their time together, and because Sara finds that she is quite sore. For all of Papa’s tenderness, for all his preparations, she has been left with a rather raw and chafed feeling between her legs. This she knows to be normal, and so she is not surprised or dismayed. What does surprise her, however, is the stickiness she feels down there, as the evidence of their love-making drips down her thighs. She’s not sure why she didn’t expect it, she really should have expected it, but it makes her feel rather…unclean. Not in a bad way, mind you, just an uncomfortable one. She wants, no, needs a wash. As soon as she’s home, she’s filling her copper tub and getting in it.

At the front door, Papa kisses her farewell. It is a deep, longing kiss, one that expresses everything neither of them can say.

“Until we meet again, my sweet Emeritus?” Sara asks softly, stroking his cheek, tracing the markings there.

“Until we meet again, my love,” he agrees fervently.

And so the lovers part.

The whole way home, Sara revels in the events that have just passed. Did she really just lose her maidenhead to a mysterious anti-pope? Did they really make love not once, but twice? She sighs at the memory of their second time together. He had moved inside her slowly, holding her hands, pinning them to the mattress. He looked into her eyes the entire time, and she had met his gaze even as she came, clenching and spasming around his length. There had been something to that last coupling that had the power of a ritual, something that seemed to bind them to each other. The first time had been them relieving the painfully erotic tension that had been building between them since day one, that and her sexual initiation. But the second time….

“The second time felt like a hand fasting,” she whispers in awe, thinking of the ceremony that linked two people’s souls together. What has she done? What wonderful and frighteningly powerful thing has she gone and done? She cannot guess that this is only the beginning, that what had transpired barely an hour ago was not nearly as powerful or binding as events that will occur in six weeks time. 

When she arrives home at last, Old Nan is waiting for her. The midwife glares at her with a disapproval older women usually reserve for wayward daughters. Paranoid, Sara wonders if the crone can detect the scents of sweat and sex lingering on her skin. 

“Where have you been all day?” she asks, impatience in her tone.  
“The miller’s wife needs one of your poultices. Her milk is blocked again,”

“I had an errand to run,” Sara lies awkwardly. She clutches her cloak around her body, hoping Old Nan didn’t see the scant garment underneath it.

The midwife narrows her eyes. She didn’t raise five daughters to not know a lie. The young woman is hiding something, and she thinks she knows what. The market has been bubbling with gossip all day about her assistant, gossip that worries Nan greatly.

“How was that ball last night?” she asks.

Sara gulps, remembering everything she did. The dancing, the furiously passionate embrace in the library. Her face flushes, and she wonders if there was talk of her in the market today.

“It was…nice. A little boring, actually. I went home early,” She says, affecting a casual tone. The old woman snorts. All the stories she’s heard today leads evidence to the contrary.

“People have been saying that you danced with that strange man all night. The one who dresses like a mockery of the pope, and paints himself to look like an omen of death. They say you disappeared with him around midnight to perform unholy rituals together.” Nan says in a low hiss.

Sara recalls their fevered moments in the library. The taste of his mouth, and the feel of his hands, with those damned gloves sliding up her thighs. His hardness rubbing against her most secret and sacred place, setting her aflame with want. Unholy rituals, indeed…

“Papa Emeritus danced with me, it’s true. But nothing untoward happened. He took me to see his library after I mentioned a fondness for reading, he was every bit the gentleman. He seems to have taken an interest in me, however, but I do not know why,” she says.

That last part is true. She honestly has no idea why Papa is so drawn to her, and she to him. There is something almost…supernatural about it. As if they were destined to find each other. As if they were made for each other.

“Help me draw a bath, Nan,” she says pushing those deep thoughts away. She can, no, she will talk to Papa about this later. She suspects that he knows more about their situation than she does. After all, the first time he laid eyes on her, he had this…look. As if he’d been searching for her, and was surprised and relieved to have found her at last.

“A bath? At this hour?” Old Nan balks. It couldn’t wait until evening?

“I haven’t had a proper bath in awhile,” Sara says, desperately wanting to tell Nan the truth, wishing she could fully trust the old woman with this explosive news.  
“And I took a tumble while gathering in the woods today, so moving about isn’t too easy. The hot water will feel good on all my sore spots,”

Nan eyes her friend and assistant suspiciously. The girl is walking a little stiffly, but not because of a fall, she’ll wager. She’s been plucked, deflowered, and the old midwife has a good idea as to who did the honors. But she’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. We are all young once, and prone to passion. She'll help prepare her bath, and treat her as she did her own daughters, not pushing for information, but waiting until the girl comes of her own volition.

Together they fetch water from Sara’s well and pour it into a cauldron over the fire. While they wait for it to heat, Sara feeds the cat and prepares a poultice for the miller’s wife. They have a bit of lunch (have you ever boiled water in a cauldron? It takes awhile), and discuss which townswomen are due to give birth, and who will be fine for another week or so. Sara has removed her cloak, revealing the thin pink muslin and black velvet bodice, but Nan says nothing about it. She’s also certain that the old woman has seen the marks of passion Papa Emeritus left on her neck, but again, Nan is blessedly silent. When the water is hot, and poured into her big copper tub, Sara scents it with neroli and Old Nan leaves to let her bathe in privacy. Alone at last, Sara undress and slides into bliss. She washes slowly, not wanting to rinse Papa’s scent from her skin. Oh, he smelled..divine. Clean, yet spicy and musky, with a hint of incense. She is loathe to be cleansed of this sweet reminder of their afternoon together, but glad to be rid of other, messier signs that she has been with a man. And that reminds her…

Contraception. In the heat of the moment, it didn’t seem to matter, but now, after all is said and done, she knows that she must work quickly. She knows what herbs she needs, she’s been making contraceptive potions for years. Just not for her own use. But, tonight, she’ll make a posset of pennyroyal and blue cohosh, and then she must wait for her courses to arrive. She has no intention of becoming a mother right now, and must take measures to protect herself. Perhaps someday, but not this day. Ah, but she’ll think of that after her bath. Right now she wants to enjoy the sweet scented water, and relax. Yet, she cannot stop thinking about Papa. She replays their every moment together in her mind. Their passionate kisses, his mouth at her neck and breasts. The way he looked at her as he thrust inside her. The weight of his body bearing down on her, the sweat that dripped down his chest. She recalls their mutual culmination, and how safe and beloved she felt in his arms, afterward. But when will she see him again? Will he come to her, or shall she have to come to him again? She supposes she will have to see who will give in to temptation first. Who won’t be able to endure their separation? Sara is cracking already. It makes her ache to know that he is only a mile away. She could so easily get out of this tub, march naked to the manor and present herself to him.

She actually should get out of the tub, anyway. She's starting to prune. She rises from the water, half expecting one of the Ghouls to materialize with a towel. She knows that there is one Ghoul she hasn’t met yet, the one with the slight build. How awkward it would be to meet him in such a manner, but it wouldn’t surprise her. Most of these masked fellows seem to have a mischievous side. But no one appears but the cat, coming in from her afternoon hunt with a mouse in her jaws. Sara steps out of the tub and goes to dry off. She has a potion to brew; it is going to be a long night.

The next day, Sara goes into the woods to do her gathering. She’s in a grove of oak trees, collecting acorns, when she hears the chittering of a squirrel, and an unfamiliar voice. Looking up, she sees a Nameless Ghoul, the very one she has not met, sitting in the branches of the biggest oak in the grove. He is holding a fat gray squirrel, who is chattering enthusiastically. The Ghoul replies sincerely, with short pleasant answers and polite queries.

“What is Loki telling you?” Sara calls  
“Be careful, he likes to exaggerate,”

The Ghoul looks down. His eyes light up at the sight of her standing below him, basket in hands and a smile on her lips.

“Sara! Finally we can be formally introduced! I’m the Nameless Ghoul they call Earth,” he says brightly, eyes twinkling through the holes in his mask.  
“And Loki was telling me about a witch who cast a spell to protect himself, and the other small creatures of these woods from the cruelty of the local boys and their rocks,”

“I do what I can,” Sara says with a bow of her head, recalling the charms she made and buried throughout the forest, and the invocations she called out to the stag headed Forest God. Afterwards, local toughs complained of not being able to find any squirrels or other animals to throw their rocks at. And when they did find them, their rocks always missed.

“So you are a witch,” Earth muses.  
“But you’re not one of ours, I can tell. And Papa says he found no sigil, no mark on your skin. All our witches bear sigils.”

Sara finds herself blushing. Of course the Ghouls would know that she had bedded Papa, of course he would tell them. How much did he tell them, besides mentioning her unmarked flesh? What other details of her body did he share with his Ghouls? She shakes these thoughts away.

“Of course I have no sigil. I have no master. I am a Child of the Goddess. We are as free as that squirrel in your hands,” she says, chin up, pride glinting in her eyes. But that pride suddenly fades when she hesitantly asks:  
“So Papa has figured this out? That I do not belong to your Lord and Master? Is he angry? Regretful?”

“Not at all,” Earth reassures.  
“He’s actually quite intrigued by the entire situation. He’d like to speak to you about it as soon as he can.”

A chance to see Papa again! Her breath catches in her throat at the thought. But it has to wait. She has too much to do…

“I am busy today,” she says.  
“The Autumnal Equinox is coming, and I have a lot to do beforehand,”

“Like what? Can I assist you?” Earth asks, hopping down from the tree. Loki the squirrel jumps into the high branches, no longer interested in what the Giant Hairless Not Squirrels are doing.

Sara smiles. She likes this Ghoul a lot, this eager, chipper fellow. Why not let him help her?

“Yes, if you like. I’ve been getting acorns for my altar. When I get back to the cottage, I’m baking bread, and gathering the root vegetables from the garden,” she says cheerfully.  
“Come on, then”

For the next few hours, Sara and Earth putter about her kitchen making bread. They bake dark wheat bread, fine white bread, rye and oat. She flavors loaves with herbs and cloves of garlic and makes little cakes to be drenched in honey. All for the Equinox, to honor the abundance of the harvest, and bid farewell to the Summer and hello to Autumn. Earth gets himself coated in flour, his black suit dusted snowy white. Sara cannot help but laugh the sight.

“You look like a ghost!” She crows.  
“You ought to stand outside windows and night, terrify the self-righteous pricks of this town!”

Earth smiles at her idea. The Witch certainly has a wicked streak, he might consider doing as she suggests. Maybe see if the other Ghouls would join him. They had to make their own entertainment in places like this, after all. When the breads are finished, and the potatoes and onions harvested from the garden, the Ghoul realizes that Papa has been expecting him for several hours now.

“He’d only sent me to check on you. He wanted to make sure you had ‘recovered’ as he put it,” Earth explains, wiping dirt off his hands.

Sara’s cheeks heat up. Recovered? What did he tell those Ghouls? She’ll show that smug, sexy ridiculous man ‘recovered’! Maybe she won’t be 'recovered’ enough to see him tomorrow! She cannot explain where her irritation comes from, but she'll show him just the same! Recovered!

“Tell him that I am rather unwell, and that I don’t know when I can see him again,” she says with an overly dramatic sigh. Recovered, indeed.

Earth grins behind his mask. Yes, she certainly has a wicked streak. Perhaps Papa has finally met his match in this witch, someone who can meet his flamboyance and flair for drama with her own.

“I’ll let him know,” he says winking conspiratorially.  
“Good day, Sara,”

And with that, he casually strolls out the door.

That night, as she readies for bed, Sara finds herself regretting her…lie. For that’s what it is. One mischievous little lie told impulsively, and now she’s certain she’s done herself in, ruined everything between them. Of course Papa should ask if she’s recovered! She practically limped home because their lovemaking had left her sore, of course he should be concerned! And she had to go and act like a peevish child. Maybe it was because he didn’t ask her himself, maybe she felt some kind of embarrassment over the Ghouls knowing any intimate details about her first time. But it doesn't matter now, the damage is done. After an hour’s worth of tossing and turning, she falls asleep. She dreams of Papa looking at her in disappointment, shaking his head disdainfully. She's not the right kind of witch. She lied to him. She lied, and she's lost him forever.

“You are not who I thought you were” he says coldly. Then he turns from her in a swirl of robes.

“No!” she screams, reaching out for him desperately.  
“Please Emeritus don’t leave me!”

Sara wakes up from her horrors, still screaming his name, drenched in sweat and tears.

“Emeritus!”

She hears a familiar voice reply:  
“Yes, my love?”

Papa is in her cottage. She sits up and sees him, standing at the foot of her bed, devilishly handsome in the moonlight streaming in from her window. She gasps in surprise, and asks:  
“What are you doing here?”

Earth told me that you were unwell,” he says, smoothly moving to her bedside, eyes full of concern.

“Oh Papa,” she groans.  
“I am very well. I was being mischievous when I sent that message. I don’t know why, I don't know what came over me, and I’m sorry for it,”

Papa sighs and shakes his head, in what appears to be dismay. He's not truly upset, no, he's more relieved than anything, but he has a wicked streak of his own.

“You are a bad, bad girl,” He says gravely, wagging a gloved finger.  
“Quite a naughty little witch. I think you need to be punished,”

“Punished?” she squeaks, clutching her blankets to her chest. What does he intend to do? Would he dare strike her? No, she does not think he would harm her. Just what is he planning, though?

“Oh yes, I’m afraid so,” he says in a low, seductive growl. He start to undress, and Sara’s fear fades away, quickly replaced by a flush of desire. He's not really mad at her at all, she realizes. Now she really wants to know what he intends to do, but it's with anticipation.

Naked, he climbs slowly into her narrow bed, pulling back her blankets to reveal the thin night dress twisted and rucked around her thighs. He leans in and kisses her deeply, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his fingers pulling at the ribbons on the front of her garment. At last she breaks the kiss, and looks him in the eye.

“Punish me,” she says, pushing the night dress to her hips, revealing her full breasts.  
“I have been so very wicked,”

Papa presses her gently into the mattress and pillows, and with a swift movement, rips the night dress off her body and flings it to the floor. He starts at at her mouth, biting her lips gently, his hands running down the length of her body, cupping the curves. Then his lips moves down to her neck, stopping to bite and lick. He nips hard, making her cry out, but he soothes each hurt quickly, with tender kisses. His mouth travels lower again, this time lavishing her breasts with similar attentions. Sara wants to lose herself in the pleasure of his love making, but she finds that all she can think about are the jars of pennyroyal and blue cohosh, still sitting on her table from last night. Drinking the tea she had brewed from them had made her sick as a dog, so she was loathe to have to drink it again, and she didn’t have a sea sponge yet.

“Stop,” she says, placing her hand on his head.

Papa looks up, her nipple slipping out of his mouth with a slight pop.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asks, gently.

“I…I don’t want to get with child.” she says awkwardly.  
“And I don’t have a sea sponge yet. Could you…pull out before you…”

She can’t finish the sentence, he’s watching her so intently. How is it she can talk frankly to the townswomen about sea sponges, and tracking your monthly cycle, but she cannot ask her lover to pull out before he comes? Papa chuckles softly, though not unkindly. Her shyness is endearing.

“Don’t worry, my Sara,” he soothes, stroking her cheek.  
“I can only get you with child with your consent, if you ask it of me,”

She narrows her eyes at this. Of all the bullshit she’s heard from the mouths of men, when they’re trying to get what they want…

“Trust me,” Papa says, seeing the disbelief in her glare.  
“I will explain it all later, but for now you must trust me,”

She can feel his hardness rubbing against her leg. Does he speak out of desire? Are these the words of a man desperate to dip his wick? She looks deep into his eyes, always finding the truth there in the glinting green and white. She sees no guile, no trickery. 

“Besides," he says, rolling a nipple between his fingers, his voice low with desire.  
“I must finish your punishment,”

She gasps her consent, and his mouth continues its work on her breasts, sucking and biting the nipple of the right one, while his fingers continue to tease that of the left. A delightful punishment indeed, she moans softly, and runs her fingers through his hair. She is content to let him worship her breasts forever. But Papa has other things in mind, apparently, for soon he is making a trail of tender kisses down her plump stomach, praising her softness, and nuzzling her wide hips.

“A Venus,” he purrs, stroking her thick thighs.  
“A veritable Goddess…”

Some punishment this is,” she giggles.

Papa looks up, and gives her a sly look, rich with erotic promise. Then, he pushes her thighs apart, and starts to kiss them slowly, softly. His mouth moves closer to her mound, she can feel his breath. Tenderly, he parts her nether lips with his thumbs and begins to kiss her folds. Sara gasps in surprise and delight. Encouraged by this, the kisses turn to soft strokes of the tongue. Her gasp turns to a moan. Eventually, his skilled mouth finds her pearl, and focuses on the sensitive and sacred spot.

“Ahn…Emeritus!” she cries, clenching her thighs tightly around his head. He doesn’t stop, but continues his delicious torture, swirling the tip of his tongue on her swollen nub. Her powerful thighs could easily crush him, but he’d die a happy man. Sara writhes against his face, moaning and panting as orgasmic tension starts to rise in her belly. Two fingers plunge inside her, curling forward, teasing another sensitive spot. This pushes her closer to the edge, and she finds herself begging for release, clutching the sheets beneath her. Papa continues to lick and suck at her, relentless in his drive to make her come. Finally she is rewarded with the sweetness of la petit mort, as it overcomes her body and she screams:  
“Emeri-ahhhh oh gods!”

Papa lifts his head from her still trembling thighs and laughs, as her climax subsides, and her breathing returns to normal. Then he sits up and pulls her closer to him, till his hardness is pressed against her wet core. She whimpers in pleasure at this, still sensitive from her orgasm.

“How’s that for a punishment, wicked girl?” he growls, rubbing the tip of his cock against her entrance.

“I don’t think I’ve learned my lesson yet,” she replies, huskily, grinding against him, teasing him.

At that, he enters her, more roughly than last time; she moans as she stretches around him. Without waiting for her to adjust, he moves inside her slowly, swirling and rolling his hips with each thrust.

“Emeritus, you bastard,” she groans. He is gazing at her as he always does, intensely, never taking his eyes of her face, or her breasts for that matter.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks teasingly, sliding his thumb over her overly sensitive nub.

She doesn’t answer, only whines in frustration and ecstasy. He’s igniting a fire deep inside her, awakening that glorious spot that he can find so well. He'll take that as a no, she doesn't want him to stop.

“You delicious wench,” he pants, quickening his pace. He’s stopped swirling his hips in that devastatingly pleasurable way, and is now pounding into her, wrapping his arms around her thighs and holding for dear life.

Still sensitive from her previous climax, Sara finds herself racked by the waves and spasms of a second paroxysm, more quickly than she’d imagined. Papa doesn’t stop until it’s over, and when it is he pulls away, leaving her whimpering. He sits up, back against her headboard, and beckons.

“Come here,” he commands.  
“I’m not done with you yet”

She crawls over to him, not sure what he wants. Does he want her to please him with her mouth? She’s not sure if she’s ready to do that, just yet. Papa pulls her onto his lap, and she straddles his hips. Ah, they’re just changing positions, then. Slowly, she lowers herself back onto his member. Then, they're moving together, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her face buried in his neck. They start slowly, savoring each other. She kisses his neck and tastes the salt of his sweat. Divine. But soon, their movements become more frantic and passionate. He thrusts into her mercilessly, listening to her muffled cries against his shoulder. The bed is creaking underneath them, the ropes threatening to give way. Anyone passing by would be able to hear them as Papa growls and swears, he’s getting close to orgasm now. She tightens around him suddenly, and shudders against his chest, crying out like she’s been shot. A third climax, Sweet Satan, she’s responsive. This is enough to push him over the edge. Papa bites her shoulder, and she receives his seed in several hard thrusts that leave her breathless. Then at last they are still, holding each other tightly, not wanting to move just yet.

“Will you be naughty again?” Papa asks, kissing her gently.

“If that’s my punishment, then yes” she replies with a foxy grin. He chuckles, and kisses her again.

“You really are wicked, aren’t you?” he teases.

“You’ve heard what the townspeople say about me,” she says, climbing off him, her legs still shaky.  
“Lie down with me awhile?”

They stretch out onto her narrow bed, and Sara nestles in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest. Casually, she drapes her right leg over his, and places a hand on his stomach. Papa starts to sing softly, both arms wrapped around her tightly.

“I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart, I can see through the scars inside you…”

Could things be any better? Lying in bed, in her lover’s arms, serenaded after being pleasured thoroughly? Four days ago, she could never have imagined having any of this. Emeritus has changed everything. He has come and opened up a whole new glorious world. Pleasure, adoration and…possibility. Sara knows that with Papa by her side, that anything can happen now. And more, she’s falling in love. From the moment he stepped out of the carriage to this moment in his arms, she has been plunging deeper and deeper into love’s warm, but dangerous waters.

Papa finishes his song, and glances down at his witch. She’s drowsy with satisfaction, nuzzling him gently with her nose. He has not known contentment like this in a long time. He’s always been the romantic sort, and has loved all kinds of women in his long life, but none of them felt like this. This perfection. He’s seen the symbols on her walls, and the pentacle above her hearth, and he knows she’s not the kind of witch he’d thought she was, but none of that matters. She’s still the one he was meant to find.

“I wish you could stay all night,” Sara murmurs into his skin.  
“But if Nan stops by in the morning, I’d have a lot of explaining to do,”

“It’s unwise to be seen together by anyone except the Ghouls,” he says, stroking her hair  
“Because of what we are, who we are, the people of this town would not understand. There would be…trouble,”

“Stay until I fall asleep, at least?” she mumbles, already halfway there.

“As you wish, my love,” he says softly, pulling the blanket over them.

Soon enough, she is asleep, using his chest as a pillow. Papa knows he ought to go back to the old estate, but he finds he that he’s not quite ready to tear himself from her. Besides, she’s only just fallen asleep, any sudden movement might wake her. Yes, it’s best that he stay a little longer. Gently, he kisses her forehead, and whispers into her sweetly scented hair:  
“I love you,”


	6. Emeritus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witch has some questions for Papa Emeritus, but has been too distracted to ask. Will she finally get her answers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, I make no profit. Another NSFW chapter. When I originally wrote and submitted it, Papa Nil didn't exist, so I had Satan as Papa Emeritus' father. I have modified this chapter to match the current canon.

Sara wakes up in the late morning, having slept in, and she wonders if her encounter with Papa had been a dream. She recalls his hands, his tongue, and the positively devilish way he had moved inside her, and gives soft moan. She runs her hands over her breasts, down her stomach and…she is naked. She is naked, and her night dress lays in a ripped heap on the floor. She remembers him tearing it off her as a part of her “punishment”, now. Last night, was no dream. All of it was real, the lovemaking, and how he’d held her and sang to her afterward. She smiles and sighs like the lovestruck girl she is, and gets out of bed. On her sheets is further proof that their encounter was no dream. A wash, then. To the well for water. As she passes the table on her way outside, she spies a note. Picking it up, she sees elegant, spidery handwriting. It must be from Papa.

_My Sara,_  
_In case your were wondering, my visit last night was not a dream. Every delicious moment was quite real. I request your presence in my library this afternoon. I know you’ve had questions, and there is much we need to discuss._  
_Forever yours, Papa Emeritus III_

Sara looks up from the note. The third? There were other Papas? That’s another question that needs answering, and she has so many already. She sighs and places the note back down on her table. She could stand here, naked as a babe and wondering, or she could get dressed and start the day.

But morning moves at a snail’s pace for her. She tries to do her chores, but finds herself easily distracted, and slightly giddy at the thought of seeing Papa again, even though they’d been together quite recently. She never thought she could feel this way again, constantly needing to bask in another person’s light. She is a flower, he is the sun. At last, she can’t bear it any longer. She needs to see him now, chores be damned! She throws down her broom, and strides out the door.

“I’ll be back in a few hours!” she calls to the cat.

When she arrives fifteen minutes later, having practically run all the way there, it is Omega who lets her in. He may be playing the part of a proper doorman, but oh, his eyes gleam wickedly.

“Good afternoon, Miss” he says, cheerfully.  
“It’s certainly to good see your pretty face again,”

Sara can’t help but smile at his compliment. It’s nice being praised and flirted with after years of being shunned and feared by the men of this town. And what’s more, Papa and the Ghouls are sincere. They really do think she’s pretty. She lets her eyes wander over the large Ghoul, focusing on his silver-ringed hands and the seams of his jacket straining at the shoulders. Not a bad specimen himself, if she weren’t Papa’s woman, she wouldn’t mind having the Aether Ghoul for a lover.

“Thank you,” she says, beaming.  
“Where is Papa? He’s expecting me,”

“Right here, my beloved,” A warm and very familiar voice purrs. She turns to see her anti-pontiff standing before Omega and herself, fully robed and wearing those deliciously nailed gloves. She recalls their gold points tickling the soft flesh of her thighs and blushes hotly.

“Has Omega been flirting with you?” Papa teases.  
“He fancies himself a bit of a Casanova, all the ladies love the Aether Ghoul. But don’t worry, he’ll be a gentleman with you,”

She looks over at Omega. He chuckles under his mask and winks at her, making Papa frown and playfully wag his finger at the Ghoul. Then he turns to Sara and smiles.

“Shall we adjourn to the library, my dear?” He asks, warmly.  
“We do have quite a bit to discuss,”

Sara nods, and takes Papa’s offered hand. He whisks her away, and leads her to what he has come to think of as their library. It is, after all, where he first kissed her, and knew in his heart that she was the one he was meant to find.

“Now, what is it you would like you know?” he asks, running his hand along the mahogany table. He’s thinking about how much he’d like to bend her over the elegant piece of furniture, and fuck her senseless, but first things first. She does deserve some answers, and he has questions of his own.

“Everything,“ she says simply.

Papa sighs. Where to begin?

“Very well. I am Papa Emeritus III, youngest son of Papa Nil, a great leader of the Unholy Church. My mother was a devoted follower of his who willingly volunteered to be a Prime Mover and bear him a son. Like my half-brothers, Emeritus I, and Emeritus II-”

“Wait, you’re all named Emeritus?” Sara interrupts.

Papa shrugs at this, a gesture she finds endearing.

“So? Royal houses tend to name all their sons Louis, and their daughters Maria,” he says.  
“Besides, we may share a name, but we are all vastly different. Now, as I was saying, my father chose me to lead the Nameless Ghouls and spread the unholy gospel, and free people from the tyranny of The Church, encourage people to have independent thoughts,”

“Like your brothers before you.” Sara says slowly, putting pieces together.

“Yes,” he replies.  
“They each had their reigns, but my father forced them into retirement, when they didn't do as well as he'd hoped. He's hard to please, my father.”

"And the Nameless Ghouls?” She asks, avoiding the subject of his father and brothers. It seems to be a rather delicate and tense matter, best not pursued at this moment.

“I thought you would have asked Earth this one yesterday. I’m rather jealous you know, that he had the fortune to assist you in the kitchen. He returned with lovely descriptions of how pretty you look with dough on your hands, and flour in your hair,” Papa says, wandering over to the rows of books, running his hand over their spines. Sara shivers, he touches the books with the same tenderness as he does her.

“I forgot to ask,” she says, watching him move down a row of elegant volumes. Everything he does is painfully sensual, it seems like he does it just to inflame her.  
“We were busy with the bread,”

“Bread is very important,” Papa chuckles.  
“People have overthrown kings for it. The Nameless Ghouls were mortal men once. They sold their souls to Satan in exchange for something they wanted, each one had their reasons. They have been granted immortality, and eternal youth, but they are forbidden to unmask and as each decade goes by, they will grow ever more Ghoulish. They lost the names they bore as men, but have given themselves new ones,. They serve as my companions, as they did for my brothers. When I step down for a younger brother, they will follow him. Or they may stay with me, as past Ghouls have done, preferring to remain with my predecessors, or serve the Church some other way.

Sara soaks in this information. That’s two things explained right there, and explained quite well. But there was more she needed to know…

“Why did you come to this town?” She asks. He stops pacing and stroking the books, and moves in closer to her.

“My father told me I would find a woman here. A witch to be specific, who was destined to become mine, my consort. She would be drawn to me, like a moth to a flame, and our merge would be eternal. My brothers kept veritable harems of lovers, though they had their particular favorites. But I find, that I want only one woman to stand by my side. Easier that way, perhaps, I am not like them.,” He says, slowly circling her.

Sara shivers. A moth to a flame. She has always been meant for him. She had been waiting for him, and hadn’t even known it. Could she have ever refused? Not that she wanted to, mind, but could she? She’s afraid to ask. Finally she chokes out:  
“Your father chose me for you? Like an arranged bride? How?”

“It wasn’t like that. He did not choose you, but had a vision of you. He saw a dark haired witch standing by a fallen oak tree, and in her hands she held a beating heart. He could not see her face, for it was covered in a black lace veil, but she spoke to him and said "I am for your third son". Easy to interpret, too easy. He told me of the vision, and sent me to find you.” He says, standing behind her now. His hand grazes her back, making her tremble all the more.

“I saw you in the square,” he continues, pushing a curl behind her ear, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.  
“And I knew you were the one, the witch that had been promised to me. So I made sure you were able to go to the ball I was holding. A ball that had originally been intended to find my witch. I was exultant, I was so certain that I had found the one! Ah, but when we made love for the first time the other day, I did not find a sigil burned into your skin. And then, last night, I saw the Triple Goddess Moon painted above your bed. You are not the kind of witch I had imagined, or expected. You do not serve Satan at all, do you?”

“I did not mean to deceive you,” Sara chokes. Now, now he will spurn her, because she’s not the kind of witch he wants. Tears well up in her eyes, and start to drip down her cheeks.  
“I’m sorry. If you want to search for another, one who is better suited…”

Papa gathers her into his arms before she can finish, his gloved hands stroking her dark hair.

“No, my love,” he soothes.  
“I will not abandon you. When my father promised me a witch, I naturally assumed he meant one who served him. I did not expect a witch who had no master. So I am not disappointed, but surprised, and intrigued by you,”

She looks up at him, her damp eyes wide with astonishment. He is not rejecting her! Her fears of being abandoned recede, she should have trusted her heart, and not her anxieties.

“I am a Daughter of the Goddess. She is old. She is older than any Church. Her children have no masters,” She says proudly.  
“I realize now, that if I had not been meant for you, I would not be standing here. But do not forget, Papa, I am a free woman. We may be destined for each other, but you shall not own me, and I shall come and go as I please,”

“Agreed,” Papa whispers, simply and leans in to kiss her. It is a purely blissful moment to be enveloped in his arms, the sleeves of his vestments form a cocoon and she feels his adoration and warmth fill her.

“I have one more question,” she says, breaking the kiss.  
“You enchanted the whole town square. I saw it, you had them in your thrall. But it did not affect me. I could break our eye contact and run, why?”

Papa’s eyebrow furrow deeply in thought. It’s clear he’s searching for an answer, but coming up short.

“I’m not sure” He says at last.  
“It’s a good thing we’re in a library, eh?”

They search the shelves together, hoping to find answer. As they look at titles and flip through volumes, they discuss theories, possibilities.

“Perhaps it’s because of our bond, your destiny to be my consort?” Papa suggests, as he holds a ladder steady. Sara is at the top, perusing the library’s highest shelves for something that could answer their query.

“Maybe,” She shrugs. She glances down at her lover below. Papa has contorted himself into an odd angle, trying to look up her skirt.

“Enjoying the view?” She asks, tartly.

“Not really,” He replies.  
“Your damned skirts are obscuring all your loveliness,”

The nerve of that man! Skirts hiding too much, are they? Obscuring her ‘loveliness’? So, it’s a show he wants then? Sara juts our her hip saucily, and raises the hem of her skirts to reveal a shapely leg clad in a striped stocking, and a little glimpse of her butt cheek. From the bottom of the ladder she hears a lustful and frustrated growl.

“Little tease,” Papa grumbles.

With a pleased giggle, she climbs down the ladder. Nothing up there has the answer, anyway. Once at the bottom, Papa grabs her from behind and pulls her in close. Moving her hair aside, he kisses the back of her neck, and one hand cups a breast.

“You don’t have any books,” he says, breath warm on her skin.

“There was only erotica up there,” she gasps, turning her head to look into his face.

“And you didn’t bring any down?” He teasingly scolds. The hand on her breast squeezes gently.

“We’re supposed to be researching something,” she says, wriggling out of his arms. Honestly! Does the man think of anything else?

Papa watches her walk to another shelf, and start to search the titles. That witch! Does she know how irresistible she is? The books aren't going anywhere! They can wait! He’s thinking about the warm silkiness between her legs, and how much he’d like to be there at that moment when he hears a delighted cry.

“Oh! This one is about relations between Followers or Lucifer and Children of the Goddess! I bet our answer’s here!”

Sara carries a heavy, green leather bound tome over to the table and slams it down. She is unaware of Papa stalking her silently, walking over to her slowly. She bends over the table to search the book’s pages, her rump in the air, swaying slightly as she turns pages excitedly. At last she comes upon something. She cries out again.

“It says here that witches like me are impervious to your enchantments because we do not belong to God, or to Lucifer. We are masterless, rogue. No one can own or control us,” She says.  
“Well isn’t that somethi-”

Sara is aware of two hands gently gripping her hips. Papa Emeritus is pressed against her, slowly rubbing his hardness against her bottom. She gasps in surprise, then moans softly in pleasure.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he growls, running golden nails down her back.  
“You looked so delicious bent over this table, that round little ass in the air,”

“We’re supposed to be researching-” she says, shakily. Desire is pooling between her legs, a delighted shiver races down her body.

“You just found the answer,” He says, grinding against her more forcefully. She whimpers.  
“Now we have time for…other things. Tell me, my Witch, can you resist?”

“Ahh, no I can’t” she moans.  
“I don’t think I could if I tried,”

Papa laughs, his delicious, wicked laugh.

“So wanton,” he growls, raising her skirts and baring her plump bottom. Sara gasps at the shock of cool air on her skin, and Papa’s golden nails raking over her flesh. One of his hands reaches between her legs and gently strokes the wetness there. The leather of his gloves feels strangely wonderful as he slowly teases her little nub. He knows when to circle, when to flick gently, getting her close to the edge. Then, abruptly, he stops, making her whine in frustrated lust. She hears the rustling of fabric, then feels the tip of his cock push against her entrance.

“Tell me how much you want it,” He purrs.  
“Go on, My Witch, beg me for it,”

He grinds his length against her slickness. Sara whines again and squirms under him. He’s testing to see if she really can’t resist him, a test she’ll fail.

“Please,” she groans.  
“Just do it already!”

“Do what, exactly?” he teases.  
“What is it you want me to do?”

“Fuck me!” blurts out.  
“Please, fuck me!”

Another wicked chuckle, and he does as she so crudely implored, entering her with a single hard thrust. Sara moans into the pages of the book she’d been reading. Papa Emeritus is filling her, stretching her, but he is agonizingly still, letting her writhe under him in delicious torment.

“Oh, please Emeritus,” she groans, thrusting her hips against him.  
“I can’t take anymore teasing,”

He supposes that she has had enough for one day, and starts to pound into her relentlessly, hands gripping her hips, nails digging into the soft flesh. He curses under his breath at her warmth and tightness.

“Oh god!” she cries. He’s hitting that spot inside her, the one that leaves her a mess of pleasure.

“God’s not here, my love,” he grunts.  
“Just us”

But Sara doesn’t answer. The beautiful tension is building inside her, starting in her core and spreading through the rest of her body like flames across a prairie, all consuming. She is so very close to her climax when Papa flips her onto her back, her head resting on the book like a pillow. He frantically unlaces her bodice and pulls her chemise down over her breasts. Once freed, he cups them in his elegantly gloved hands and resumes fucking her.

“Breasts this perfect shouldn’t go neglected,” he pants. His golden nails scrape over her stiff nipples, the sensation makes her arch her back and cry his name. Her response encourages Papa to thrust harder, the table supporting them shaking, despite being made of solid mahogany. She can hear only his growls, and the sound of their bodies slapping together. She can see only him, staring down at her, mismatched eyes blazing with lust for her, and her alone. She’s finding herself close to zenith of her pleasure, and she begs him not to stop. Closer and closer, until she finds herself possessed by it, wave after wave of ecstasy drowning her. Her toes curl, her legs jerk, and her walls clamp down mercilessly around her lover’s cock. Papa practically roars at this vice-like grip, and his movements become frenzied and erratic, and before she is finished, he achieves his own climax, filling her with his seed. Sated and pleased, he slumps over her with a happy sigh, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder and neck. His miter has fallen off, and she runs her fingers through his sweat damp hair. Then, a small cough breaks the silence:  
“Ahem”

Sara looks over her lover's shoulder. Alpha is standing by the door, hands folded behind his back. How long has he been there? How much did he see?

“Shit!” she exclaims. Papa, startled by her sudden curse, lifts himself off her and tuns to face the Ghoul. He shows no surprise or dismay at his companion’s appearance.

“Alpha,” he says casually, as if he had not just seen them fuck.  
“Have we kept you waiting long?”

“Oh not at all,” The Ghoul replies, cheerily.  
“I only came in a moment ago. But you looked to be done soon, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Alderman Seymour is here, he’s requested an audience with you, Papa Emeritus,”

By now, Sara has sat up, and is fixing her bodice and skirts. The initial shock worn off, she finds that she is less embarrassed than she ought to be. She has just been seen at her most open and vulnerable, and yet she does not feel violated. That Alpha saw her in the throes of ecstasy, her legs spread and her breasts jostling, seems rather natural to her. There is no concept of modesty or shame among Papa and his Ghouls, or among Children of the Goddess, for that matter.

“Are you alright, cara mia?” Papa asks, finger under her chin. While he has no problem with his Ghouls watching him make love, he cannot be so sure about his partner’s feelings.  
“I’m devastated to leave you, but I do have to talk to that pompous little man,”

“You shall live without me, Papa” Sara giggles.  
“And I’m quite alright, really. I ought to be going anyway, for I have my own duties to attend to. Despite my wicked reputation, the ladies of this town depend upon my remedies. Help me down?”

Papa Emeritus grabs her around the waist and sweeps her off the table, stealing a passionate kiss before setting her on her feet.

“I shall think of you every moment we are apart,” he whispers.

Alpha politely looks away from this tender exchange. He’s seen enough of their intimacy for one day.

“I don’t think the Alderman should see me. The town whispers about me enough as it is, we shouldn’t feed the flames of their gossip,” Sara says.  
“Is there a back entrance I could slip out of?”

“Oh yes, Alpha will show you to the back courtyard,” Papa says, the Ghoul nodding in complicity.

Then Papa Emeritus kisses her farewell, and leaves in a swirl of rustling satin and damask. Alpha and Sara watch him go, then set out to find one of the many servant’s doors leading out the back.

“What does Alderman Seymour want?” she wonders, as they stroll down the old corridors. Alpha doesn’t answer right away, but chuckles behind his mask.

“He’s probably come to complain about all the scandalous behavior that happened at the ball. Some of the women of this town quite forgot themselves.” he says with a casual shrug. Sara is not surprised by this notion. Despite their outward primness and modesty, the women of this town can get into quite a bit of trouble. She knows this, because she’s gotten quite a few of them out of trouble.

“Including his daughter, Jane.”

Jane? Now that’s a surprise. The Alderman’s eldest daughter is prissy and pious, her mouth pinched, and her head covered by a cap at all times. Instead of pleasant small talk, she quotes psalms.

“I can’t imagine Jane…forgetting herself,” Sara gasps.

“Oh yes. She took quite a liking to me, not that I can blame her. We danced a little, and then she asked to see me alone,” He says, winking at her through the mask.

“But she’s so pious! Always saying her prayers!” Sara exclaims.

“I taught her some new prayers,” Alpha says, making a V symbol where his mouth ought to be, letting Sara know exactly what he was teaching Holy Miss Jane. She recalls her own experience with that particular act of love, Papa’s head buried between her thighs, his warm, wet mouth…She cannot imagine prim and proper Jane in a similar situation, thrashing and moaning in pleasure.

“Her father caught us, my head in her skirts,” the Fire Ghoul continues.  
“Now he’s complaining to Papa that his daughter has been corrupted. Though she was more than willing. None of us have used any sort of enchantment to get the girls of this town into our laps. Which reminds me, any reason why none of our magic works on you?”

Sara grins, pleased to have the answer. Eagerly, she explains everything she had read, right before Papa’s wooing distracted her. She had wanted to read more, learn more, but how could she resist Papa’s touch?

“I wondered if that was the case. You know, we Ghouls all figured out that you weren’t one of our witches before Papa did. Your energy doesn’t feel like that of other witches, it’s softer. And your aura, it’s lavender, soft as a spring morning. I’ve never met a witch of our clergy with an aura like that. But Papa insisted you were the one he was meant to find, and none of us really doubted it either, after all the type of witch was never specified,” Alpha says when she is finished.

“You can see my aura?” Sara asks, picking that detail out of his speech.

“Yes, all of us can. If you want to learn how to see them any one of us will teach you. Air would be the most patient teacher though,” The Ghoul replies. A tempting idea, learning new magic. She likes the idea of seeing people’s auras.

At last they arrive at the back courtyard. Outside the sun is shining, and a bird searches the cobblestones for crumbs. Alpha turns to her, his eyes are grave.

“Remember this: If you ever need any of us, for anything draw our sigil, and call our names three times. We’ll come no matter what. You are Papa’s woman, and thus we serve you as well. And if you ever need Papa, a Grucifix drawn inside a heart will summon him to you,” he says. There’s slight warning in his tone, as if he can foresee a time when she will desperately need them. Then he pats her shoulder fondly and retreats indoors.

Sara is still for a moment, staring up at the windows. She has gleaned so much knowledge today, and she’s trying to process it all. And yet there is still so much she doesn’t know, things she forgot to ask (It’s so easy to be distracted by Papa’s attentions). She sighs. It’ll have to wait for another time, she did leave her chores undone, after all. At last, she turns on her heel to find her way to the world outside, crows quarreling in the distance, wondering when she’ll see Papa again.


	7. Autumnal Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witch has had some of her questions answered, but not all. Will she have her chance, or will some surprise Equinox guests thwart her plans?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no profit, and I own nothing. This chapter is NSFW, like the last three chapters, and the next three chapters. Um, this chapter also has a little bit of alcohol use. There's a wee bit of denial/teasing in this chapter.

On the morning of the Autumnal Equinox, Sara wakes up with a guilty conscience. It gives her a sick, heavy feeling in her stomach. She’s supposed to be at a feast her family is holding a few hours away. It is a hard, long walk from Oakfell to their camp, and she should have left the day before yesterday. But that was the day she spent learning the truth about her new lover and his companions. She could have also left yesterday, but Old Nan had needed her assistance with a difficult birth. Normally, Sara did not like attending them, especially difficult ones. If something went wrong, she could easily be accused by the grieving family of cursing the mother and child. Her position as an assistant midwife was a precarious one, considering her status as an outcast and suspected witch. The fact that her remedies were largely successful and she had yet to be present at a childbed tragedy, had been the main things keeping her from being burned at the stake. But the mother in this particular case had asked for her specifically.

The Shepherd’s wife, Rachel, had been barren for many years, having only had miscarriages in the ten years she’d been married. Nine months ago, she had visited Sara, begging her for help. She had gone to mass and prayed to her god, she had even gone on a pilgrimage to see a vial of the breast milk belonging to the Holy Mother, hoping it would stir her empty womb. She had done everything, and nothing had worked. Now she was at her wit’s end, a pious woman driven to a witch out of pure desperation.

“Give me a child,” Rachel has whispered fervently, kissing Sara’s hands.  
“Please, I will do anything. Give me a child or I will die,”

The Witch was moved by her heartache, and vowed to help the woman conceive, refusing to accept any payment. She invoked every fertility goddess she knew of, and then instructed her to drink a potion made up of conception-inducing herbs every day, and to make sure she had a paroxysm when lying with her husband. Quickly enough, the shepherd’s wife was with child. She was exultant with gratitude, and wanted Sara’s guidance and care throughout her pregnancy. It was Sara who brought Rachel mint leaves for her nausea, and massaged her swelling legs. Rachel made her promise to be there when the time came. But the birth could not have been easier. Between the skills of Old Nan and Sara, the shepherd’s wife was delivered of a strapping, healthy son, who she named Tobias. Rachel’s husband, George, was so grateful he pays them in silver, kisses their hands and vows to always be in Sara’s debt. She does not want to imagine what he would have done if something had gone wrong, if mother or child had been injured or killed.

Eventually, she rolls out of bed, wondering what she could do on this Sabbat. She supposes she could visit Papa and the Ghouls, bring by some cakes and wine. Perhaps she and Papa could have a more private celebration. She has plans for her lover, oh yes she does. The erotica she found in the library has given her some ideas, things she can do with her hands and mouth. She thinks about these things while she prepares for the day, imagining how her unholy beloved will react. She also thinks about the questions she still hasn’t received an answer for, questions she forgot to ask. She has forgotten them the moment Papa had started rubbing his cock against her ass. Where had his marks come from? And why couldn’t he get her pregnant without her consent? She means to ask him tonight, hell or high water, provided he doesn’t distract her first. She wonders if she could combine her intentions to please him with her desire for answers.

Sara is finishing her breakfast when she hears a knock at her door. A Ghoul? She jumps up to answer the door, wondering which masked fellows has come today. But it is none of them. Standing before her, are two short, plump witches. Her mother and godmother, respectively. They look the same as ever, except her godmother has a new flowered bonnet. It's a massive construction made of straw, and crammed with ribbons and silk roses.

“Mama! Auntie!” she gasps.  
“What are you doing here?”

“You were supposed to be at our camp yesterday,” Her mother scolds, as a way of greeting, embracing her youngest daughter.

“I’ve been very busy,” Sara says, frozen in her mother's arms. She tells them about the birth she attended yesterday, but she is not so sure she should tell them about Papa just yet. Would they even understand her love for the leader of the Unholy Church? A man the Ghouls say is descended from Satan, himself? Mama has never entirely trusted Lucifer’s followers, why, Sara could not understand. She wishes she could tell her mother that Papa and the Ghouls have loved her heathen soul far more than any Christian, that they're kinder, more open.

“There’s more to it than that,” her godmother says, peering into her godchild’s face, making the young woman swallow nervously. Mama and Auntie know her so well, she could never have any secrets when she was younger.

“You’ve got a lover!” The older woman cries excitedly.

“I do not!” Sara cries quickly, almost too quickly. Her face and ears flush a bright scarlet, and the two older women cackle like the witches they are. They flood her with comments and questions, asking who he is, what he does and hoping he’s an improvement from Rob, who none of them had ever liked. She refuses to answer the entire time, until their barrage of teasing finally stops, and her mother says:  
“Alright then, girl. You can keep your secrets for now, but we’ll find out eventually,”

She does not doubt that. Sooner or later, her family will find out one way or another. But what will they say when they find out her beloved is who he is? Would they try to forbid her from seeing him? Would they drag her away from the life she's built for herself?

“Whoever he is, you let him know that if he hurts a hair on your head, I will hunt him down and make him sorry for it,” Auntie declares fervently.

This is the same threat she made to Rob five years before. Sure enough, shortly after he broke her heart, Rob underwent a spell of bad luck. He kept getting attacked by birds. Crows in the fields and pigeons in the town square, even chickens in his own coop, all flew at him without explanation. His family had tried to accuse her of making the birds come for him, but Old Nan had defended her. She told them all that Sara had been sick with grief in her bed, too heartbroken to wash and dress, let alone cast a spell. It had been the truth. Sara also recalls that she saw Rob at the ball six days ago, she and Papa had even danced right past him. Her onetime love had watched them with a strange expression of jealousy and fear. It had made her wonder if he regretted leaving her. Ah well, it was too late for him now. She is entirely Papa’s woman.

Flashes of silver outside in the early Autumn sun distract her from her thoughts. One of the Ghouls is outside in her garden, but she doesn’t know which one. Her mother and godmother do not notice, they’re busy bustling around, getting a feast started. They're going through her spices and tutting.

“I’ll go to the market for a few things,” Sara announces, grabbing her shopping basket.  
“The tavern sometimes sells entire roasted chickens, all ready to take home. And some wine, I’ll get some wine,”

Before they can say a word, she is out the door. She skids around to the garden, to see which Ghoul has graced her with his presence. It is Water. He’s bobbing around the rows of herbs and vegetables, playing with the cat. She's thankful her familiar likes her new companions so well. It's a sure sign they can be trusted.

“Water!” She hisses.  
“My mother and Auntie are here, they don’t know about Papa, or any of you Ghouls,”

He looks up at her voice, then looks towards her cottage window. They can hear the two old witches arguing about how best to season turnips. The Ghoul's presence is still unnoticed, a state neither of them wants to change, so he doesn't speak.

“I have to go to the market,” She continues.  
“Come and walk with me,”

She leaves her yard and waits for Water to join her. It amuses her to watch him duck below her window and crawl through the grass. Arrow leaps on him, thinking he’s still playing, and for a brief moment the cat is riding the Ghoul's back. She can’t help but giggle at the sight.

“What’s so funny out there?” Her mother calls inside the cottage.  
“I thought you were going to the market!”

“It’s just the cat being silly!” She calls backs, as Water joins her side. She glances over at the Ghoul, and quickly jerks her head in the direction of town. Time to go.

They set off down the road, taking in the beauty of the first day of Autumn. The trees were just starting to turn from green to shades of yellow, and the air had a crisp and clean quality to it. Sara always liked this time of year, when the heat of summer faded, and she could count the days to Samhain. It was her favorite Sabbat, and she had a feeling this year would be the best one yet.

“Papa wants to see you tonight,” Water tells her as they walk. He hands her a folded piece of paper.  
“He asked me to give you this,”

It is a handwritten note from Papa, and a rather obscene one at that. He starts innocently enough by praising the luxurious thickness of her hair, and the softness of her lips, before going on to do likewise for her breasts and thighs. It gets filthier from there, he has written that he longs to feel her sweet little cunny spasm on his cock, and then fill her with his spunk…oh my. She blushes at his words, knowing Water is watching her read the note. Oh look, there are little drawings in the margins, erotic scribbles of erect penises and clawed gloves fondling round breasts, with little hearts interspersed throughout. She giggles at the depraved charm of it all, then folds up the note and pockets it quickly.

“You didn’t read it, did you?” She demands of the Ghoul, her cheeks still pink.

“No,” Water says, reassuringly. He really hadn’t read a word, sensing that Papa’s message for her was most likely incredibly intimate.  
“I can imagine its contents quite well enough on my own. Papa is a very...passionate man,”

“Tell him I have company, my Mother and Godmother are here for the Sabbat, and I’ll come to him when they are asleep,” She says, dropping the subject of Papa’s note, and instead turning her attention to the first thing Water had brought up. The Ghoul nods, and says he will let Papa know as soon as he returns to the manor.

By now they’ve arrived in town, the walk having been short. People stare when they see Sara enter the market with one of the Nameless Ghouls. They whisper excitedly as the pair cuts through the crowd. The scandal of it! The Witch being escorted by one of those strange masked men! The gall of her, to flaunt her wickedness before Good Christians with her minion in tow! But for once, their whispers are nothing to her. She knows they fear Water, and whatever abilities he may have, to try to do more than gossip. They’ve always been more talk than action, this lot. Even so, Water silences them with a glare, and Sara fancies she can smell the ocean.

“What did you do?” She asks, softly as they walk to the tavern to see what’s freshly roasted and ready to buy.

“A bit of…bewitchment, help them settle down a little,” Water explains, as they step inside. The tavern’s maids all eye him hungrily, cooing for him to come and sit down. He glances longingly in their direction as Sara selects a freshly roasted chicken the tavern keeper is displaying. Ah, but he can visit him later, or they'll come find him. The Witch is taking out her coins to count them when Water stops her hand.

“Let me pay for this. Papa has asked us Ghouls to make sure you have everything you could want or need,” He says, taking out a pouch of gold.

“He doesn’t have to do that,” She whispers, flustered. The tavern keeper, a large bald man with an impressive mustache, pretends not to listen to them.  
“I get by. I don’t need charity,”

“It’s not like that,” Water says shaking his head.  
“When Papa loves someone he likes to take care of them, make sure they want for nothing. He’s always been that way.”

Sara doesn’t reply. She’s mulling his words over in her mind. Love? Does Papa love her? He has never outright said so. He called her his love, and often spoke of how they were meant for each other, but he hasn’t said ‘I love you,’. Of course, they’ve only known each other for a week. Perhaps it is too soon for him to have even developed such deep feelings? The tavern keeper clears his throat, she’s taking too long.

“If it would please Papa, then I shall allow it,” She says at last, and the coins exchange hands, and she is one roast chicken richer.

She and Water peruse market stalls together after, choosing other things to bring back to for the Sabbat feast: wine, fruits, and other sweets. They are still attracting attention, though for an entirely different reason. Alpha had been right about the Ghouls’ popularity with the local girls. Young women gaze at Water thirstily, wink at him and flirt as he walks by. Some even give Sara looks of pure jealousy, not knowing she has no claim over her escort. If only she could reassure them; she is entirely Papa’s woman.

“My, oh my, Water, they like you,” She whispers, giggling.

“They like all of us,” He shrugs, endearingly.  
“It happens everywhere we go,”

“And Papa?” She finds herself asking, imagining all the women he’s had before her. Could he stay loyal to her, when he’s such a desirable man?

“It doesn’t matter. He’s devoted himself to you now,” Water says. “You have the heart of the most powerful man in the Unholy Church in your hands, and that is no small thing. I think Papa will always be true to you,”

Sara smiles at this, reassured. She hated to admit it, but the Ghoul knew her beloved better than she did. She would trust him on this matter. Then, Water stops in front of the draper's stall. The Witch's eyes are dazzled by the velvets and taffetas, the silks and brocades. She cannot afford to shop here, and doesn't know why they've bothered to stop.

“Papa asked me to have you pick five bolts of cloth,” He says, running his fingers over a bolt of black velvet.  
“He longs to see you in deep colors, like the beautiful, dark jewel that you are,”

Her dark, nearly black hair and olive skin made her stand out in this Northern town, where most of the girls had fair complexions of pink and white, with light eyes and hair. She had been described as a crow, as a succubus, but never a jewel. She glows under the kindness of the gesture and words, and does as requested. She picks two silk taffetas in pine green and black and white stripe, a scarlet satin, the black velvet Water was fondling, and a third taffeta of plum figured with black velvet. Water nods his approval at her choices.

“I’ll take these back to the Manor, and Papa will have them made into whatever you like.” He says, winking at the shop girl as he pays for them.

“I’ll thank him later tonight,” she says, a hint of mischief in her voice. “I should get back home now, we’ve got a lot to carry and it’ll be a long walk,”

“Oh, not necessarily,” Water says brightly. “Take my arm, and stay as close to me as possible,”

Awkwardly, Sara loops her arm through his. It surprises her to find how muscular he is; she can see one reason he’s so popular. She does as he asks, and wiggles in close to him, clutching her shopping.

“Hold on,” He says, and the sound of rushing water fills her ears and all she can see is a blue haze. But she is not frightened at all. When the strange haze clears, she find they are in front of the cottage.

“How extraordinary!” She gasps, softly.

“We can all do it,” He shrugs.  
“Have a fine sabbat with your family, Sara,”

Then, just like that, he’s gone. She goes inside, where her Mama and Auntie have started cooking. Potatoes, turnips and onions roast in a dish over the fire. Sara presents them with the roasted chicken, the fruits, the sweets and the wine.

“How did you afford all this?” Her mother asks.

Should she tell the truth? That her lover has given her the money, that she is essentially a kept woman now? Papa has lavished her with fine things from the beginning. She thinks of the beautiful white gown lying in her trunk with sachets of cedar to protect it from moths. He had given her that before he’s even been properly introduced to her, when she had just been a face in the crowd. But she does not want to explain any of this to her loved ones just yet. She chooses to lie.

“I’ve had some very grateful clients,” she says. She hates to hide the truth from the women who raised her and taught her everything, but right now, she finds she has no choice. She does not imagine they would understand.

The evening turns out to be a fine one. The food is delicious, the chicken is tender and juicy, and the cakes glisten with honey as Sara opens the first bottle of wine. They eat, and she receives updates on her family. Her father is well, and her sisters. Her baby niece has two new teeth. Sara doesn’t tell them much about her own life, even as she polishes off glass after glass of the wine that Water had sworn by. It’s a sweet red wine that goes down all too easily. As the meal progresses, she finds herself getting good and tipsy. She listens to her mother and auntie tell old stories and laugh together. But she finds herself getting sleepier by the moment. When she puts her head down on the table to rest for just a moment, they stop cackling and look down at her with concern. Within moments they are clucking over her like brooding hens.

“Hold a piece of amethyst,” Her Mama advises, pushing an amulet into her hand. The stone is said to cure drunkenness.

“Have some more cake,” Her Auntie says, feeding her a piece of soft, honey drizzled sweet cake.

“The hour is late,” Her mother adds.  
“Perhaps we all ought to turn in,”

They help her out of her chair, and begin to herd her towards her bed as she clutches the amulet. She cannot sleep; she has to meet Papa tonight. But she cannot protest, her tongue feels thick and fuzzy, and won’t make the words.

“I’m fine,” she finally slurs, as they help her into bed. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness, floating out on a raft across the misty lake of her dreams. She cannot fight it, and falls into a deep, drunken sleep.

_She is walking through a green and gold field she remembers vaguely from her childhood, when she wore colorfully patched dresses bought from street vendors selling used clothes, and a small bell so her Mama can hear her if she runs off. She does not remember how old she is, she only looks down and sees her smaller self. Orange and green patched dress, bell collar, and in her small grubby hand, her rag doll._

_“Sara…” Is that Papa Emeritus calling her? How can he be calling for her, he could not have known her in her baby days. As his calls become more insistent, she looks around for him desperately, growing older each time he says her name, until she is an adult again._  
_“Wake up…”_

Sara’s eyes snap open. Papa is still calling for her; it was no dream at all. She looks around her cottage, eyes scanning the dark. She spies the sleeping forms of her family, but no Papa Emeritus. Then, there's a tapping on the window next to her bed. Startled, she glances over; it’s Papa. She claps a hand over her own mouth to muffle her delighted squeal, and opens the window. Before she can whisper a word, he sticks his head in and kisses her gloriously hard.

“Where were you?” He asks. She can hear the slight hurt and disappointment in his voice.  
“I waited for you,”

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep.” She says with an apologetic smile, stroking his cheek with her hand.  
“The wine did me in,”

Papa nods, and kisses her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth this time, tasting her. She has to stifle a moan.

“Mmm, good wine too,” He purrs, eyes closed with pleasure.  
“I’ve come to steal you away for a few hours, for own private Equinox celebration. I promise you’ll be back by dawn,”

Sara agrees, at once, and before she knows it, Papa is helping her sneak out the window. She remembers briefly, sneaking away from her family's camp to be with Rob, but this is better by far. Once outside and clasped in his arms, he covers her mouth and neck with tender kisses.

“I’m not properly attired,” she giggles. Before she had fully fallen asleep, her mother had helped her out of her bodice and skirt, leaving her only in a thin lawn shift. An early autumn chill has set in, and she shivers in Papa’s arms.

“Are you cold, my dear?” He asks, teasing a stiff nipple through the thin fabric of her garment.

“Yes,” She gasps, pressing herself against him, her desire growing.

“Shall I take you somewhere…warmer, perhaps?” He suggests. She nods fervently, and he instructs her to put her arms around his neck, and hold onto him. She complies, knowing what to expect from her earlier experience with Water.

This time it is different, though. The haze that surrounds them is violet and gold instead of blue. Instead of the sounds of rushing water, Sara’s ears detect something else, the faint whispers of a thousand voices. She tries to drown them out by burying her face in Papa’s chest and focusing on the sound of his heart. The whispers get louder and louder, and she can feel something cold brushing against her back and calves like searching fingers. She shudders and cries out at the sensation. Just when she is starting to wonder when it will ever end, she finds they are in Papa’s elegant room.

“What was that?” She cries, on the verge of hysteria.  
“Those voices, and what felt like…fingers, touching me! When I traveled with Water that way nothing was like that!”

Papa Emeritus gathers Sara into his arms to soothe her. She is shaking, and tears are threatening to spill onto her cheeks. He silently chastises himself for not warning her about his unorthodox for of travel, slipping into different planes of existence to save some time has become second nature to him.

“It’s different for each of us,” He says softly, stroking her hair as he talks.  
“For each of the Ghouls, it depends on their respective element, but I am different. What you heard and felt were the spirits of the dead, longing to feel warm flesh again. They are drawn to me, the dead, and while it is a frightening notion, they will not harm you. It is the living you must fear more than the dead,”

After the explanation and some soothing pets, her shaking ceases and she calms down. He apologizes for not warning her beforehand, saying, how could I have been so insensitive? Then, Papa leads her to a plush chair by the fire, has her sit, and goes to a sideboard to fetch some brandy.

“Try not to think of it, my sweet,” He says handing her a snifter.  
“Here, let us be merry. It is a Sabbat after all.”

Sara takes a sip of the potent liquor. It burns, but it is not entirely unpleasant. He sits across from her sipping his own brandy. They are silent, but he watches her the entire time, studying her like a work of art. He watches the shadows of the flames dance across her face and body, how she holds her snifter and delicately put the glass to her lips. He watches her expressions relax, as she grows accustomed to the taste.

“Do you know how beautiful you are in the firelight?” He finally asks, his voice deepening with lust.  
“Come here, and let me appreciate your beauty,”

She takes another sip of brandy, puts it down and obeys, padding slowly across the expensive Turkish carpet. She feels relaxed, but not drunk, like with the wine. Papa Emeritus never takes his eyes off as she moves closer. He can see her nipples, and the shadow of her maidenhair through the thin cloth of her shift. He needs to see more of her.

“The shift,” he growls in desire, tugging at the soft lawn as she stands before him.  
“Take it off,”

Sara shivers in excitement at the tone of his voice, and feels an ache grow between her legs. She takes the hem of the garment and slowly raises it, revealing herself only a little at a time. With each teasing inch she uncovers a bit more: first her thick thighs, then the dark little triangle at their apex. A few more inches, and she lets him see her broad hips and round belly, and finally her breasts, full and glorious. It pleases her to note the hunger in Papa’s eyes, and the bulge pressing against the fabric of his trousers. She drops the shift on the floor, and slowly climbs in his lap, straddling his thighs. He groans when she presses her mouth against his, opening his lips with her tongue. She rubs herself against hardness as she kisses him, her arousal growing with his, leaving a damp spot on the cloth of his trousers. His hands grip her hips and bottom, and he thrusts against her, making her whine with need into his mouth.

“Do you want me inside you?” he pants, breaking the kiss.  
“Do you want me to…fuck you?”

“Not yet,” she gasps, even as his hand cups her mound.  
“First I want to do something for you.”

Sara slides off his lap, kneeling before him like a penitent. Slowly, she opens his trousers, and frees his cock. It’s strange, she’s made love to him four times, but she only touched it once, during their second time making love, when she grasped it in her hand to guide him inside her. It's not that she hasn't wanted to, it's more that she's still shy about these matters and doesn't quite know how to tell him what she wants to do to him without feeling, somewhat silly. She intends to change that tonight.

“I want to thank you,” She says huskily, grasping it gently in her hand.  
“You’ve been so kind to me, so generous…”

Her hand travels up and down his length, marveling at the size and feel of it, as her other hand caresses his thigh. He thrusts against her hand, groaning, but she knows this won’t be enough. She's going to have to do more than just just stroke this thing. So, she lowers her head, and starts to kiss and lick his hardness, making Papa gasp softly. It seems like a good start, but even so, she's unsure of herself. Her head bobs back up, and she gives Papa a hopeful, almost apologetic grin.

“I…I’ve never done this before,” She says shyly, pushing a dark curl behind her ear.  
"So forgive me if I'm...no good,"

“That’s alright,” He says, lacing his fingers through her hair.  
“You’re doing quite well already,”

At that encouragement, she lowers her head again, takes him in her mouth, and slowly starts to suck. This makes him moan, and grip her hair a little harder. He guides her to move her head up and down and soon she has a steady, though slightly clumsy, rhythm going. What doesn't fit in her mouth she strokes in her hand, and that makes his size less daunting.

“Good,” He growls.  
“Keep doing it just like that,”

Sara finds she quite enjoys pleasing him this way. For once he’s the one at her mercy, writhing in pleasurable torment. She also discovers, to her surprise, that she likes the way he feels and tastes. Papa Emeritus looks down at the woman worshiping him with her mouth. Her glorious dark hair fans out over his thighs, and she looks up at him, her wide brown eyes shining in the firelight. Is she…smiling? Is she smiling, innocently as an angel even as she sucks him? By the Devil, she is! Abruptly, he asks her to stop, despite how much he's enjoying it. He wants more from her.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asks, lifting her head and wiping her mouth.

“Not at all, dear. Your mouth is divine…but I’d rather have something else,” He says.  
“Get back in my lap, I want you on my cock,”

She climbs into his lap as commanded, straddling him once again. Slowly, she rubs her wetness against his length, teasing him, and pleasuring herself. He groans at the sensation and tries to hold her still so he can thrust inside her, but he is thwarted when her hand comes between them.

“Before you have me, you’re going to answer my questions.” Sara says, boldly. Despite everything, she still has not forgotten her questions. She might as well ask him now, he's not going anywhere.  
“I didn’t get a chance to find out everything I wanted to know before you bent me over that table, so I’m you’re going to talk now,”

“Naughty wench,” He chuckles, frustrated, but amused at the same time.  
“What is it you want to know?”

“Your skull markings, how did you get them? I know they’re not paint,” she asks, bluntly.

“They appeared when I ascended to the Unholy Papacy,” He replies.  
“At first, they looked more skeletal, but they didn’t suit me, so I changed to this. It better reflects who I am inside.”

They do suit him, she thinks, reaching out to touch his cheek softly, they're just as elegant as he is. As she slowly caresses him, he writhes impatiently. She wants to keep him waiting, she finds.

“Why have the marks though? What do they mean?” She asks, now stroking his length, teasing him even as she gets her answers.

“Because I represent the death of the Christian Church, the death of ignorance,” He replies with a groan, thrusting into her hand.

As if to reward him for answering two questions so well, she allows only the tip of his cock to enter her, the tip and no more. He groans and tries to bury himself further inside her, but the grip of her hand stops him. She has more to ask him.

“No, no, we’re not done yet,” She scolds, her voice thickening with desire. He growls at her in lust and frustration, even though he does enjoy this sort of game, the game of denial. He knows he'll get to have her at some point tonight.  
“Why can’t you get me pregnant without my consent?”

“It’s a spell I cast on myself; a rare and old form of magic. I would never force a woman into motherhood,” He pants. His hands are running up and down her hips, her sides.  
“It’s more effective than herbs or sponges, I find. Are you done interrogating me? Can I fuck you now?”

“One more question,” She says softly. Should she even ask this one?  
“Do you love me?”

For a moment he is silent, and then at last he replies: “Yes, I love you,”

There is no lie in his beautiful, strange eyes. Papa Emeritus really does love her. She does not hesitate; she lowers herself onto him, letting him fill her completely. They moan in unison, and start to move together, his hands grasping her plump hips. There is a tenderness to this coupling, a new aching dimension added by the knowledge that he loves her. It makes each kiss sweeter, every thrust more intense. After a time, he wishes to have her on the bed, so he picks her up and carries her over. He kisses her hard, and then sets her down so he can undress. Once he has finished, he joins her on the bed. Now Papa is on top of her, his chest bearing down on hers as he slides back inside her heat. Sara wraps her arms and legs around him, and gazes into his mismatched eyes, seeing the love and desire in them, a love and desire that matches her own. Yes, she loves him, perhaps she’s loved him from the moment she saw him.

“I am yours,” She pants as he moves inside her slowly and gently.

“Mine,” He whispers into her neck, before softly biting the skin.

“Yes,” She gasps in affirmation, then she kisses him deeply, pushing her tongue against his and biting his lips.

Papa’s thrusts increase in speed, and he pulls away to hold her legs up, the better to hit the sweet spot inside her. Sara cries out at this, and curses softly as her pleasure grows in a way that makes her think of a flower stretching towards the sun. Closer and closer to that light...

“Touch yourself,” Papa commands, sensing she’s reaching her end.  
“Help me bring you to completion.”

Her hand wanders downward and finds her pearl, slick and swollen with arousal. She does as Papa Emeritus commands, stroking herself while he encourages her:  
“Come for me. Come for your Papa Emeritus,”

He leans down and a starts to bite and suck on her neck, not being gentle at all; knowing it will push her over the edge. It works, just as he predicted, and she comes apart underneath him, crying out loudly enough to wake the Ghouls, not that any of them were asleep. Papa keeps thrusting through the waves of pleasure, growling and swearing as she tightens around him.

“Good. Hahn…that was good,” He pants when it’s over.

“Now it’s your turn,” Sara says thrusting against him, grinning wickedly.  
“Now I want you to come for me,”

“You want me to come?” He growls, passionately, getting close to his own end.  
“You want me to fill your little quim with my seed?”

“Yes,” she pants. There are no traces of shyness left in her now, Papa Emeritus has fucked it all out of her.  
“Please, fill me,”

His movements become rougher and harder, more erratic. Then, with a growl, he finally comes, emptying his seed deep inside her. But he doesn’t roll over right away; instead he continues to lazily thrust inside her, as if he isn’t ready to break their connection.

“Oh Emeritus, oh my love,” She sighs, running her fingers through his hair and looking up at him adoringly.

“Am I?” He asks tenderly.  
“Am I your love? Do you love me as I love you?”

“Yes,” She says, kissing his forehead.  
“I love you. I think I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you,”

Papa Emeritus kisses her hard then, exultant. She loves him. His witch loves him, just as he loves her. He cannot recall ever being so happy, feeling so complete.

“We were made for each other,” He purrs, kissing her neck softly. All the while he keeps thrusting slowly, gently.

“I think so, too,” She gasps.

Then he starts to move harder and faster, losing himself in the feel of her, his love for her. Sara surrenders herself to the pleasure of his lovemaking, and soon the world ceases to exist for the pair. There is nothing, nothing but Papa Emeritus and his witch. They do not leave his bed until dawn, choosing to celebrate the Equinox by coming together as one.


	8. The Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa Emeritus loves the Witch, and she loves him? But can their secret stay safe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, I don't make money. This chapter contents kinky elements such as spanking, and more teasing and denial! There's a bit of Dom/sub stuff that becomes some fresh and funky femme dom! So it's really NSFW! There's also a MONTAAAGE that's incredibly NSFW!

Her Mother and Aunt leave the morning after the Equinox, none the wiser about Sara’s assignation with Papa Emeritus. At dawn, he had brought her back to the cottage, but not before bestowing her with an Equinox gift: a beautiful black silk night dress, trimmed beautifully with black lace, made to replace the one he had torn only a few nights ago. If her family had noticed the lovely new garment, they said nothing at all. Instead, they warned her that they would come back, and meet her mystery lover. Sara cannot begin to imagine how Papa being confronted by her Mama and Auntie would play out. They would probably interrogate him, asking him about his intentions towards her, who he is, where he’s from… the gods only know what else. It amuses and worries her.

Hours later, sitting in her bath and alone at last, Sara thinks about her farewell with Papa in the early morning hours. He had kissed her long and hard, declaring his love one more time before he helped her into cottage window. As she slid back in, he smacked her upturned buttocks playfully, testing to see if she’d yelp and wake her sleeping family. When she bit her lip and looked back at him to glare in mild annoyance, he had chuckled.

“Good girl,” He said, indulgently.  
“Until we meet again,”

And then in a flash of smoke, he was gone. Now she wonders when she’ll see him again, as she always does after they’ve been together. But now, with the knowledge of his love, this constant longing has intensified, and she cannot explain why. But she is also delirious with joy. She is in love, and he loves her in return! Sara cannot help herself; she splashes her hands and feet in her lavender scented water like a child, squealing at her good fortune.

“He loves me! He loves me!” She chants excitedly to herself, as water sloshes out of the tub.

“Ahem” A voice interrupts the witch in her revels.

Air is standing before her, arms folded behind his back. The fact that she is naked; her breasts bobbing on the water’s surface, doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. The Ghouls are accustomed to the nude female form, and there’s no shame to be had. If he admires her form as she rises from the tub, he is certainly discreet about it.

“Hello, Air,” she nods calmly, taking a drying sheet hanging on a chair nearby. She wraps herself in it, like a white linen cocoon, and sits down by the crackling fire, waiting to see what the Ghoul wants.

“Papa sent me,” he says.  
“He would like you to come see him when you are free to do so…”

The Ghoul pauses, as if there’s more to say, but he does not know how to do so. Or perhaps he does not want to say it at all. He sighs, then gently cradles his masked forehead in his palm, and says:  
“He wants you to…peruse fashion plates with him,”

Fashion plates? Sara barks out a laugh; no wonder he paused, out of all the things the anti-pope could ask of her, he want to look at fashion plates? But then she remembers the fabrics she had picked out with Water the day before. She puts two and two together, of course he'd want her to pick patterns.

“Does he want me to choose what styles I like best?” She asks, watching her familiar, Arrow, pad over to Air to sniff at him inquisitively.

“That’s exactly what he would like,” he says, bending down to pet the cat.  
“He would like to have some dresses made for you, among other things. He says he longs to fill your every desire and whim,”

Knowing Papa, this is almost certainly a double _entendre_ , and the Witch, cannot help but blush, and grin, looking shyly into the fire. But there’s more to it than that. Soon, she will be more fashionable than even the richest ladies in town, her, when she is naught more than the youngest child of an itinerant witch and her day laborer husband. The thought amuses her to no end, and she imagines their indignation when she enters the town square in the most rich silks and velvets, cut into the very latest designs.

“Please, tell Papa Emeritus, that I will be glad to join him as soon as I am able,” she says, looking up at Air with a foxy grin.

The tallest Ghoul returns the smile under her mask. Air finds the Witch to be an utterly delightful creature, and it pleases him that Papa has found such a partner. The pair seem to suit each other perfectly, and they adore each other, as well.

“I’ll inform him of your answer, immediately,” He says, nodding.  
“Have a good evening, Miss Sara,”

Then the Ghoul vanishes just as suddenly as he appeared.

Over the next week, Sara and Papa Emeritus fall into a comfortable routine made thrilling by their insatiable lust for each other. Whenever it pleased her, the Witch would walk to the Estate, where she was let in by one of the Ghouls, and presented to Papa. He’d whisk her away to his private rooms, where they would fall upon each other ravenously, making love all day if it pleased them. But they also liked to go to the library together a great deal, with Papa showing her all kinds of books, and teaching her the lore and traditions of the Church he lead. More often than not, however, these lessons would only end in sex. The lovers found that they could get surprisingly creative in the space usually reserved for learning, finding various uses of the tables, chairs and even the ladders in their pursuit of pleasure. A favorite game of Papa Emeritus’ was to sit next to Sara while she read a book, and lean into her gently, sliding his hands along her thighs, underneath her petticoat. It amused them both to have her pretend he wasn’t there, to see how long she could possibly ignore him, even as Emeritus pushed her thighs apart and explored the warmth between her legs. He’d see how long she could keep up the charade, teasing at her sweetest spots until she would abandon the book so she could grasp the chair arms, and cry out in delight, rocking her hips against his hands. Yet, there was also a great deal of tenderness between the two; they found that they could simply hold each other for hours, talking softly. Sometimes they were so content, so comfortable, that they would doze off in each other’s arms. The witch had never slept so well, as she did her Papa Emeritus’ embrace.

Papa and his Witch are so utterly enraptured by one another, that they barely take any notice of the town’s whispers. For years, the God-fearing people of Oakfell have barely tolerated Sara’s presence, not having enough evidence to make a proper accusation of witchcraft. But now some of the men of the town, like Alderman William Seymour, are starting to build a case against her. They believe she has used her magic to summon Papa and the Ghouls. Upon their arrival, these unholy creatures wasted no time in seducing their wives and daughters, and throwing an extravagant party, where the Witch had been seen dancing and flirting the skull faced leader. Many witnesses even saw her leave the ballroom with him, perhaps to perform some sort of debauched ritual. Next, the Ghouls were seen doing her bidding, escorting her around the market, assisting her with chores, or delivering messages that sent her scurrying down to the old estate. Then there was the matter of the gold. How did a previously impoverished woman, who had always traded honey and remedies for her goods, suddenly have an inexhaustible supply of coins? Clearly, she was more powerful, more wicked than they had thought. Frightened, the townsmen consult the priest. Their daughters, sweethearts and wives have all been corrupted by these demons, and the Witch is at the center of it all. They've been seeing her for years, for "remedies", they all claim, but there's more to it than that, and they know their women are hiding something. Could it be an unholy alliance with the Devil? Father Augustine thinks of the voluptuous, dark haired woman who has never attended mass, and walks with a sway in her step. For years, he has feared that showing her mercy would lead to something like this. She has brought evil to this town, and seeks to corrupt good Christians in the name of Satan. He knows he must arrest her, but if he did, what would Papa and his Ghouls do? What horrors and plagues would they unleash upon the town? Needing advice, he decides to write the Bishop.

While Father Augustine frantically scribbles out a message to the Bishop, Sara is walking down the forest path, intending to surprise Papa Emeritus with a visit. She wonders what he’s doing at this moment; is he sitting on his anti-Papal throne, receiving visitors? Members of the Unholy Church often came from great distances to pay their respects to Papa, to ask for his blessings or seek his favor. The Witch has not been introduced to any of these people, not yet. She asks Emeritus why this is so, and every time his answer is the same: “You will be formally presented, when the time is right. Do not distress yourself, my sweet,”

So she tries to be patient, though she wonders what would happen if she accidentally ran into one of these followers, today, while she’s trying to surprise her beloved. Would he be upset with her? She pulls her dark cloak around herself more tightly; she certainly hopes he wouldn’t be upset. When she arrives, it is the Earth Ghoul who lets Sara inside the manor. The Ghouls have become her friends, and Earth is no exception. He no longer bows to greet her, now he hugs her.

“Where is he?” She asks, grinning, unable to hide her excitement at what she has planned.  
“Do not announce me, I mean to surprise him.”

“Presence chamber,” the slender Ghoul says, hiding a bit of a smirk behind his mask. Hugging her had unintentionally revealed to him the secret hiding under all that velvet. He thinks Papa is going to like this surprise very much.

“Thank you,” she chirps, gliding towards the oldest parts of the manor. She knows these halls and suites like the back of her hand now, and no longer requires an escort from room to room.

Down the dark corridors she goes, admiring the art lining the walls, and the stained glass in the windows. She’s just walked past a series of tapestries of ladies and unicorns, when she realizes she can hear the sounds of passion. Glancing to her right, she sees Alpha pinning a moaning woman to the wall, thrusting into her at an almost frenzied pace. Sara’s eyes widen; so the Ghouls have just as much enthusiasm and stamina as Papa does. His partner’s moans have escalated to blissful cries and she shouts:  
“Oh God yes! I’m coming! I’m coming!”

By the Goddess, it’s the Alderman’s daughter. She has just seen pious, psalm spouting, modest Jane come undone by pleasure. Sara walks a little faster, torn between mortification and amusement, finding it especially humorous that first Alpha saw her and Papa, and now she’s seen Alpha and his lover. Stifling a chuckle, she continues her journey to the presence chamber, sighing with relief when she sees the heavy oak doors. She lets herself in, and marvels; the room is spacious, with stained glass windows that stream colored light onto the marble floors. The walls are covered with art, tapestries and paintings. There’s a softly babbling fountain with statues of women bathing in the red-tinted water; a gift from the first Papa Emeritus.

The Third Papa Emeritus does not initially notice Sara standing his presence chamber. He is too busy talking to Air about the Ghoul’s newest pianoforte compositions. Water and Omega are sitting together, strumming Spanish guitars, and whispering softly. By chance, Water glances up, and sees the Witch standing by the door, wrapped in a black velvet cloak, her dark hair in a plait down her back. She is smiling mischievously, and the Ghoul senses she’s up to something.

“Papa, we have a visitor,” he announces, nodding to her.

Emeritus turns his gaze from Air to the woman standing before them all. As always, his heart skips a beat, and he feels a flush of desire at the sight of her. He also catches the same expression Water did, that smile bordering on a smirk, and a twinkle in her brown eyes. What is she plotting?

“May I speak with you alone?” She asks boldly. As soon as the words leave her mouth, the Ghouls all start to move towards the door, though they each pause to greet her.

“It’s about time you two blessed this room,” Water jests cheekily, as he slips out into the corridor. Sara giggles softly, then turns back to Papa Emeritus. They are alone.

“You wished to speak to me?” He asks, watching her walk towards him slowly, seductively. Her eyes are on him the whole time, he can feel himself start to grow hard under his chasuble. When she is only a few inches away from him, she stops and slowly unties her cloak, letting it fall. She is stark naked, except for her scarlet stockings and black boots. Papa is awestruck with desire and some shock, for he cannot believe that she was audacious enough to walk here nearly naked. What if she had been caught? What a woman, what a wild, wonderful woman.

“I didn’t want to talk,” she says with a grin, before crawling into his lap; the beading and embroidery of his chasuble scratches against the delicate flesh of her thighs as she straddles him, but it doesn’t bother her a bit. Papa gives a pleased growl as she presses herself against him.

“Well, aren’t you a bold girl,” Papa Emeritus says in that mock scolding tone of his, cupping one of her breasts in one gloved hand, grabbing her fleshy hip with the other.  
“Yes, you’re being a very bold girl, coming in here without permission, half-naked. That’s very naughty of you, you know. Am I going to have to punish you again? Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” she whispers fervently, grinding against the stiff bulge constrained by his vestments.  
“Please, punish me again,”

Papa chuckles, and then gently guides her so she’s lying across his knees. Sara holds her breath, guessing he’s going to spank her on the bottom, just like when he helped her through the window to her cottage. The thought thrills her, and makes her wiggle in anticipation. Papa gives a pleased growl at her reaction, and then his hand whistles through the air, and firmly smacks her ass. The Witch cries out and arches her back at the strangely pleasing sting. Papa chuckles indulgently, and gives her another couple of firm spanks. He’s quickly rewarded by more soft cries and squirming from his lover.

“What shall I do with you, my bad girl?” He purrs, pausing to gently caress Sara’s now rosy bottom.

“Whatever you wish, my love,” she gasps, writhing with growing arousal. What will he do with her?

“Are you sure?” He asks running his hand from her bum, down the backs of her thighs. Whatever he wishes? Oh, she really is a brave one, isn’t she?  
“Whatever I ask of you?”

“Yes,” Sara nods fervently, growing more desperate to relieve her lust, her need for him. She hears him chuckle, then she receives her first command.

“You’re going to start by getting off my lap, and onto your knees in front of me,” He says, firmly. The Witch obeys quickly, sliding off him, and kneeling on the throne’s hard marble dais. She looks up at him expectantly, gazing into his mismatched eyes.

“Now,” He growls softly, stroking her lower lip with his thumb.  
“Get under my vestments and worship me,”

Sara knows exactly what he wants her to do. ‘Some punishment’ she thinks, crawling under his chasuble, the satin sliding down her back. Next, she pushes his alb up around his waist and is not surprised find he’s wearing nothing underneath it. Then, she takes his length in her hand, stroking him a few times before she starts performing marvels with her lips and tongue. Papa gives a pleased groan, throwing his head back and gripping the arms of the throne while she takes him in her mouth.

“Yes, that’s good,” He pants, thrusting his hips to match her own movements.  
“Keep doing that for now, but…fuck…but we’re hardly done yet,”

Sara speeds up her rhythm, enjoying the sounds he’s making and the way he writhes underneath her. It adds to her own arousal and she wonders when she’ll get to have her pleasure. But her own needs do not distract her from the task at hand (and mouth), and she keeps sucking, until Papa finds himself getting dangerously close to finishing. She’s gotten very good at this.

“S-stop, stand up,” He commands, and the witch is pleased to hear the tremble in his voice. She did that, she thinks with some satisfaction. Slowly, Sara climbs out from under his chasuble and does as she is bid, wiping her mouth as she does so. What will he want next? Emeritus rises to join her, circling her slowly like a hawk. She feels like a rabbit, trembling as he does this, but it is desire, not fear that make her quake. His golden nailed leather gloves trace up and down her spine, along her neck and shoulders. This touch makes her gasp, and her knees weaken.

“That was good.” He says, at last.  
“Very good. Sit on my throne, I’m going to give you a reward,”

Still trembling with desire, she obeys. The crimson velvet feels like a caress against her bare skin, and she briefly worries about ruining the expensive fabric with her…desire. Papa Emeritus kneels before her, as she had for him, and slowly parts her thighs. He is gazing at her with reverence, as if she were a work of art. Then, he starts to kiss her inner thighs, moving higher and higher until he reaches her quim. He pauses; his breath feels warm and sweet on her flesh.

“Please,” Sara begs softly. Consent given, Papa Emeritus does not hesitate. He buries his face into her heat, and starts to practically devour her. Now she’s the one writhing and moaning, which he finds utterly delightful. When he starts to focus his attention on her pearl, she practically screams his name and knocks his miter off. Her fingers grasp at his hair; holding him right where she wants him to be. This makes Papa chuckle against her flesh, and lap and suck at her all the harder. The Witch finds she is already close to coming, and tells him so in a gasping voice. Abruptly, Papa lifts his head from between her thighs and looks up at her, licking his lips and chuckling.

“What? Why did you stop? Is something wrong?” she asks, confused and slightly disappointed.

“Don’t worry, my love,” He purrs, helping Sara up off the throne, and taking her place on it. He fumbles with his vestments, hiking them up to free his length. Then, Emeritus gently pulls her into his lap, facing her away from him.  
“You’ll still have your pleasure…”

She can feel the head of his cock nuzzling against her entrance, a sensation that makes her keen softly with desire, before whispering a fervent 'yes'. Then, Papa thrusts forward, filling her completely. Sara moans hungrily, as he pins her wrists to the throne’s arms and moves inside her with hard and fast strokes.

“My witch,” He growls.  
“Do you like it rough?”

The nails of his gloves dig into her soft skin as fucks her, and she moans an affirmation. Yes, yes she does like it rough, and she could never have imagined being so inclined. That’s another thing she loves about Papa, he’s always showing her the sweetest possibilities. Now he’s wrapping the thick braid of her hair around his wrist and pulling gently, but possessively. He’s pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Sara gasps in pleasure, tilting her head up slightly, and in that moment she sees Alderman Seymour barge angrily into the throne room.

When William Seymour heard his daughter had been seen with one of the Nameless Ghouls, he marched to the manor in a fury. He was going to drag her home, beat her soundly, and then send her to a convent. (Though that really would not have solved the problem, considering that the Ghouls have been sneaking in and out of them for centuries; in fact, Alpha and Omega had once competed to see who could take most Brides of Christ to bed). But he had gotten lost in the maze of darkened rooms, and this setback gave Alpha and Jane ample time to finish their coupling and leave the old estate. When he heard a woman cry out, he followed the sound to presence room, not knowing what he would find. Now the Alderman stands aghast, staring at the sight before him with an expression of pure horror. Papa Emeritus is sprawled on the throne with his vestments pulled up, and he is holding that sloe eyed witch in his lap. She’s almost completely nude, and the antipope is thrusting into her while she moans and cries in pleasure. Her eyes meet his, and she looks rather surprised, to say the least.

“Oh fuck!” she gasps.  
“Emeritus! We have a guest!”

Papa Emeritus peers over Sara’s shoulder and sees the man standing before them, turning redder by the moment. He smirks, and slows his pace to a halt, wrapping his arms around the witch’s waist and pulling her in close. The folds of his chasuble drape over her hips, but her upper body remains boldly exposed.

“Why hello,” he says genially.  
“Can I be of some assistance?”

“Where’s my daughter? Where’s my Jane?” Seymour blusters. He cannot, try as he might, stop staring at the Witch, still writhing in her master’s embrace. It’s a mixture of horror and fascination that keeps his eyes on the couple, for the man had never seen such a flagrant display of carnality. But then again, the Alderman has only ever had sex with his wife in bed, in the dark, with both their nightclothes on.

“I have not seen your daughter, Alderman Seymour,” Papa Emeritus chuckles.  
“I’ve been quite busy, as you can see,”

Now that her initial shock has worn off, Sara can only feel annoyance, and a slight amount of fear. Suppose he decides to turn right around and decides to tell the town what he’s just seen? How would the town react to the news that she had been caught _en flagrante delicto_ with the antipope? She opens her mouth to speak, but Papa beats her to it.

“Yes, I’ve been busy teaching this very naughty girl a lesson,” Papa says casually, leaning in to bite her neck; she can’t help it, a pleased whimper falls out of the witch’s mouth.  
“A lesson that you are interrupting,”

“Sinners!” William shouts, crossing himself. Then he points a finger at Sara and continues.  
“And you! I always knew you were the devil’s harlot! A witch! A witch! Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”

“Enough!” Papa Emeritus growls, tightening his grip around his lover, and she is surprised to hear anger in his voice.  
“You will say nothing of what you have seen. You will say nothing, not even in confession, or I will cast a plague on this town, and wither its crops,”

At this threat, the Alderman steps back, shocked and frightened into silence. This town has suffered epidemics and crop failures before; they buried half the town 20 years ago during the last cholera outbreak. The stricken turned blue before they died, and were buried in a mass grave just outside town. The air was filled with the rattling of funeral carts stacked with corpses, the groans of the dying and the wails of the bereaved. He shudders at the memories, and wonders if this agent of Satan is capable of recreating that horrific summer when he was a young man.  
  
“You will leave us now,” Papa says in a low voice, fixing the man with a powerful stare.

But the Alderman stands frozen, seemingly in moral agony. He knows it is his Christian duty to say something, do something, about this wickedness he has seen today. Surely, it is a sin to allow this Witch and her unholy lover to keep doing as they please. But Papa’s threat hangs over him like a dark storm cloud, and old memories continue to fill his mind. He lost a fiancée to the cholera, a girl he loved before his wife, and he finds that he would rather be damned than watch another loved one die in such a terrible way. Then there’s idea of crop failure, and the financial ruin and hunger that comes with that particular disaster. There’s too much at risk, and he gives a defeated sigh. Finally, he starts to move towards the door, but not quickly enough for Papa Emeritus.

“Get out!” Papa shouts, really and truly angry now. This blathering fool has the gall to barge in here, interrupting his good time, making threats and hurling insults. The anti-pontiff has really had enough. That does it, and William Seymour scuttles out the door, the heavy oak slamming behind him. Footsteps thunder down the halls, and Sara sighs in relief, slumping against Papa’s chest as she does so. The Alderman is gone at last, and hopefully he’ll keep his mouth shut. She does not want to imagine what would happen if he does not.

“Are you alright?” Emeritus asks her, breaking the silence. A hand moves from her hip to stroke her hair. During his entire exchange with that oaf Seymour, his witch had been as silent and still as a deer cornered by hounds. Well, except when he bit her neck, she’d made such a sweet sound when he did that.

“I will be,” Sara says, leaning into his caress.

“You were very good for our guest,” he says with a chuckle, continuing to gently rub her hip and thigh with the hand not stroking her hair.  
“Though I hope his visit didn’t ruin the mood for you too much,”

Papa rolls his hips under her slightly, making her gasp a little. He’s still buried to the hilt inside her, and she finds that no, the mood hasn’t really been ruined at all. Her shock, mortification and anxiety are starting to melt away, replaced only by desire.

“No, I don’t think it did,” She purrs, as he continues gently moving against her and running his leather clad hands over her body.

“Excellent, then we can continue our lesson,” he says, with a pleased growl.  
“Turn around; I want you to look at me,”

Sara does as he suggests, carefully maneuvering herself around so she can face him. Their eyes find each other immediately and Papa Emeritus takes her chin in his hand so he can kiss her hard on the mouth. Now it’s her turn to slowly ride him, his hands are still roving over her skin as she does so. Her pleasure starts to build up again, a coil in her belly growing tighter and tighter. She whimpers into his mouth.

“Yes,” he pants, breaking the kiss.  
“Yes, you were very good for our guest. So good, I think I’m going to reward you again. You’d like to come, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes,” she gasps, moving a little faster now. Oh yes, she’d love to come.

He chuckles, and slipping a hand between them, begins circling her pearl with deft fingers wrapped in soft leather. She’s come to love the feeling of his gloves between her legs, gliding against her slick warmth. As his fingers do their delightful work, he gently grabs her by the nape of the neck, and draws her throat to his mouth, sucking and biting the skin there. Oh, that always does the trick. It’s not too long before she finds herself crying out as her orgasm washes over her, her walls clenching around Papa’s length. He growls against her flesh at the sensation, and lets her ride it out. When the spasms subside, she gives a pleased sigh and slumps against him, burying her face into the crook of his neck. In her post-orgasmic haze, she has forgotten that her lover has not yet met his end. He gives her a moment to recover, then smacks her bottom sharply to get her attention.

“My love, would you neglect me so?” He purrs teasingly.

Sara lifts her head from his shoulder and smiles, a devious thought coming to mind. Slowly, her hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders and down his arms. Her smile never fades, and he watches her carefully, waiting to see what she intends to do.

“And just what are you planning, my little witch?” Papa Emeritus asks, watching her gently take his wrists in her soft hands. Then, before he knows it, Sara pins them to the arms of the throne.

“What does it look like, my love?” she says, leaning in to bite his earlobe.  
“I’m taking charge now, and you’re going to be at my mercy,”

She’s pinned him with her thick thighs and hips so he cannot move, and her thrusts are slow and hard. Papa shudders and gasps in pleasure, for with each roll of her pelvis, the witch tightens her inner muscles around his length in a vise-like grip. Her mouth never stops moving up and down his jaw, from ear to lips, then back again.

“I’m yours to command,” he says, his voice trembling. She’s surprised him with this sudden, but delightful dominance, and the incredibly pleasurable erotic trick she’s learned.

“Yes, yes you are,” she replies, biting his earlobe again.  
“It’s my turn to tease you, and if you want your release, you’re going to have to beg me for it,”

He chuckles, despite the delicious sort of agony he’s in. Yes, he’s really enjoying this new aspect of her. He thinks of the shy virgin he brought to bed and deflowered, and marvels at what’s she’s become now, after almost a month of being his lover. It makes him love her all the more, his bold, wild witch.

“Well, don’t you learn fast,” He hisses in pleasure, writhing under her.  
“I’d like to see you make me beg…”

Sara chuckles, and continues rolling her hips against his with slow precision, her walls continuing to grip his cock with each thrust. The witch finds she likes taking charge in the act of love. There’s something about having such a powerful man at her utter mercy that gives her a pleasing thrill deep in her belly. She thinks of the shy virgin she was not too long ago, and marvels at what a bold creature she’s become. Would she have come out of her shell if not for her Papa Emeritus?

“Oh, you’ll beg,” she growls softly. Then, without warning she speeds up, riding him hard and fast. She brings him to the very brink of orgasm, then stops completely, making him groan and curse in frustration. She makes a pattern of it, moving her hips slowly at first, speeding up, and then stopping just before he can come. He’s becoming more and more frustrated, but is too proud to beg her just yet.

“Come on, Papa,” She croons. This is unusual for her, usually during sex she calls him Emeritus, or Emeritahhhyesss. But he doesn’t mind, not a bit.  
“If you want to finish, you know what you need to say…”

Papa Emeritus growls at her, his eyes dark with lust, his cock twitching with need. Sara has stopped moving entirely, except for her mouth which is roaming over his neck and jaw, pausing now and then to capture his lips. The kisses turn to little bites, and slowly, tortuously, she starts the trick with her inner muscles again. He whimpers in desperation and agonizing pleasure, trying to thrust his hips under her. He knows he could easily use his extraordinary strength to take the upper hand and finish this if he wanted, but there is something to be said about having a beautiful woman make you hers. He can say he enjoys it very much.

“Please,” he whispers at last, looking into her eyes, trembling. She has made Papa Emeritus III tremble.  
“Please let me have the release I have so kindly given you. Let me fill you, I want to pump my seed into you…”

Emeritus trails off from there, biting his lip and watching her. He want to ask more of her, but it’s much too soon for that, much too soon. That particular desire he will keep close to his heart for now. Sara’s eyes search his, as if she knows that he’s holding something back from her. He wants something from her, something he hesitates to share. She wants to get it out of him, but there are more important matters at hand.

“Then do it,” She purrs, freeing his wrists, and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” he growls, running his hands over her breasts, pausing to pinch the nipples, before moving them down her waist and over her hips. He starts to move inside her, and he is not gentle; his hands grip her ass tightly so he can keep her still as he pounds into her relentlessly. She can feel a second climax of her own coming.

“Spend, my love,” she gasps, right before the dam inside her breaks and she comes hard, crying out like she’s been shot by an arrow. Her words and the feeling of her heat twitching around his length push Emeritus over the edge, and he buries himself to the hilt, spilling his seed deep inside her. Then it is over, and they are tender and quiet with each other. Sara rests her head on his shoulder and sighs contentedly, while Papa Emeritus runs his hands softly over her hair and down her back.

“That was…” He begins, but trails off. For once, the silver tongued Emeritus cannot find the right words for what they’ve just shared. A combination of awe and satisfaction has rendered him speechless.

For a long while, they don’t move or speak, except for Papa’s fingers delicately tracing hearts along the witch’s spine. Finally, she lifts her head from his shoulder and looks at him with a slightly grave expression. The afterglow has worn off, and she’s remembered William Seymour’s interruption and subsequent threats towards her person. She had never seen Papa so angry, and not just because they’d been disturbed; he was defending her. But while she does not doubt that Papa will keep her safe, she still worries.

“Do you think…do you think he’ll tell anyone what he’s seen?” Sara says, biting her lip. She doesn’t need to say who ‘he’ is.

“I wouldn’t fret over it.” Papa Emeritus says, tenderly.  
“I think he took my threat seriously. Everything will be alright, I promise.”

He cups her face in his hands, and pulls her forward gently, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. She trusts that he’s right, that the Alderman’s fear will keep him silent and them safe. That's all she can do right now.

“Now come with me, my love,” Papa says, kissing her lips heartily.  
“I have something I want to show you,”


	9. The Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa Emeritus and the Witch have been caught en flagrante delicto! Will their secret stay safe? And what does Papa what to show her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything, and I don't make a profit. Papa and the Ghouls are not intended to represent any real person, and are based off of stage personas. My characters are my characters. 
> 
> This chapter contains rough sex, and some mild blood play. You done been warned.

Sara slides off of Papa’s lap, her legs shaky after their love making. She has no clothes to gather up, just her cloak, and she picks it up off the marble floor, shaking it out before throwing it around her shoulders. It’s going to be a chilly walk home; it’s the second week of October, and the weather has cooled off significantly. But she doesn’t want to think of that now; she wants to see what Papa Emeritus has to show her. She lets him lead her to an elegant parlor, the room done entirely in white and gold, with brocade covered furniture and more paintings on the wall, all in gilded frames. Plush Turkish rugs cover parquet floors and in one corner there’s a harpsichord painted with cherubs and flowers. The chandeliers are glimmering crystal, and the ceiling is painted with a mural of cavorting nymphs. In the center of all this finery are seamstress’ dummies, each one bearing a dress made with the fabric she picked out with Water at the Equinox, in patterns that she chose with Papa’s help. The Witch is too astonished and delighted to even gasp, her breath has been stolen. The scarlet satin, the dark green silk taffeta, and the plum taffeta with black velvet figuring have been made into stylish day dresses, while the striped taffeta and the black velvet are more formal dresses for evening. Sara stands still, eyes glittering and hands clasped over her mouth. Papa is spoiling her, absolutely spoiling her! Does she even deserve any of this?

“Emeritus, they’re gorgeous,” she whispers at last, turning to him, face flushed.

“I also procured some other things for you, bonnets, gloves and shawls. Those sorts of things,” He says, beaming at her reaction, her joy.

At this she squeals excitedly, and throws her arms around him, covering him in kisses. With each one, she thanks him profusely, insisting she doesn’t merit such generosity. How much did this even cost him? Papa Emeritus for his part could not be more pleased with her reaction. He has always enjoyed showering his lovers with gifts, providing them with their every desire. As a result he spends almost a ludicrous amount of gold, much to the consternation of his father, and Sister Imperator, an iron-willed clergy member who also happens to be Papa Nil’s long-time _maitresse en titre_.

“Nonsense, no one could deserve this more.” He says, when Sara’s flurry of kisses have ceased, and she has wandered over to the dresses to run her fingers over the fabric, as if she was making sure they were really there. As if this was all a dream.  
“Here, put one on now, so you don’t catch cold on your way home,”

He selects the green silk taffeta, wanting to see her in that one most of all. It’s as dark as a pine forest, with a narrow waist, and a full skirt. The sleeves are tight and neckline is cut low, baring her shoulders, as is the fashion in the cities. He takes it off the form, and helps her into it, lacing it up the back. It fits like a dream, and complements her dark hair and olive skin perfectly. Papa pauses to look at her for a long while, as if she were a work of art.

“Perfection,” he purrs at last, catching her hands in his to kiss the tips of her fingers.  
“My gorgeous dark jewel,”

It is exactly what Water had called her at the Equinox when she had picked out the fabrics. ‘He longs to see you in deep colors, like the beautiful, dark jewel that you are’, the Ghoul had said, and at the time she had blushed, not used to the praise. He leads Sara to a conveniently placed mirror, so she can see herself. ‘I almost look like a real lady’ she thinks, watching her reflection. She runs her hands over the bodice and skirt, barely believing such a garment could be on her body. She’s lost in her own thoughts, and barely notices Papa Emeritus wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close until her back is flush against his chest.

“I will be holding a masquerade on All Hallow’s Eve. A ball even grander than the last one,” He says, watching their reflections.  
“I would be proud to present you to the Clergy, including my father and brothers,”

He doesn’t add that he would especially like to show her off to his brothers, to rub their noses in it a little. They’ve always been rivals, the three Emeriti, always trying to outdo each other, always trying to see who can make Papa Nihil the most proud. So far, they all disappoint their father, for one reason or another.

Sara for her part is speechless. She had been wondering earlier today if she’d ever meet any Church members besides Papa and the Ghouls, and what a coincidence that Emeritus has mentioned it! She mulls this news over, wondering what they would think of her, the witch with no master, an untamed child of the Goddess. Would they accept her? Would they scorn her? Her train of thought is interrupted by Papa saying a most interesting thing.

“I was also hoping you’d want to…I have been meaning to ask you…there’s this ceremony…”  
“What kind of ceremony?” she asks spinning to face him. Does he want her to join the Church? Does he want to marry her? What?

For the first time in a very long time, Papa Emeritus III is flustered. He didn’t intend to mention it today, in fact he meant to ask her more formally, but it just slipped out. He doesn’t answer her right away.

“What. Kind. Of. Ceremony?” Sara repeats, punctuating each word with a gentle poke to his chest.

“I’m not sure I should ask you like this, it’s too…informal. It’s a very important and sacred ceremony to my Church,” he says with a gentlemanly sniff, furthering the witch’s suspicions. He wants to either marry or convert her, but she decides not to press the subject.

“Would you like me to give you some time? And then you can ask me in the manner you would prefer?” She asks, gently.

“Yes,” he agrees, relieved that she understands.  
“Yes, I would like to do that,”

“Very well,” she nods, throwing her cloak over her new dress. She has looked out the window and seen the sunset, it’s time to get back to the cottage.  
“I must go before it gets too dark, though I sorely wish I could stay. Summon me when you’re ready?”

“Yes, yes,” Papa says, reluctant to see her go. If only she would leave that poky little cottage and stay here!  
“I’ll have the Ghouls drop off the rest of your things sometime later…please, my love, do be careful out there.”

“I’ll take the path through the woods; I fear wild beasts less than I fear people,” Sara says, kissing his cheek.  
“Until I see you again,”

Then she is out the door and gone in a swish of velvet and taffeta. She moves down the corridors, and out into the foyer. She steps out the large front door, and is surprised to find Omega leaning against one of the large marble columns. His mask is pushed up a little, revealing his chin and mouth, and he is smoking tobacco that has been rolled into a thin white paper tube; she thinks it’s called a cigarette. Whatever it is, it’s not nearly as wondrous or surprising as the sight of the Ghoul’s naked jaw and lips. She has never seen any of the Ghouls unmasked, and she finds it surprisingly more intimate than catching one of them fucking.

“Pardon me,” Sara stammers out, and he looks up in surprise, before hastily putting out the cigarette and pushing his mask down. There’s a moment of awkward silence before she adds: “I did not mean to interrupt you,”

“I am watching the gate,” he explains, pointing to the wrought iron construction at the end of the gravel path.  
“William Seymour was out there, pacing and muttering, staring at the doors and windows. I suppose Alpha was with his daughter, again. He scuttled away when he saw me watching him, but keep an eye out for him on your way home,”

The Witch tells Omega she plans on taking the forest path. Confidently, she tells him that she’s never seen a single citizen of Oakfell go in those woods at dusk. This does not seem to comfort him, and he reaches into his sash to hand her a small silver dagger, an Italian Stiletto. She has her own knives at home, but nothing so fine or as deadly looking as this one.

“Keep it close,” He says softly, a hand on her shoulder.  
“Never underestimate the power of ignorance and fear.”

The whole walk home Sara thinks of the Ghoul’s words. _Do not underestimate the power of ignorance and fear._ Would Alderman Seymour risk going into the woods at this late in an effort to do her harm? She remembers what he had shouted in the presence chamber. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. He’s never been this bold with his hatred before, and it makes her paranoid. She feels like she is being watched, and is certain she can hear footsteps behind her; her imagination runs wild. It’s the Alderman, and he’s probably brought others with him; he’s too much of a coward to go after her alone, look how he buckled before Papa! Now, she wishes had asked her lover to accompany her home, him or one of the Ghouls. Omega, she should have asked Omega. But it’s too late for that, and it’s really not too long of a walk, really. Even so, the Witch clutches her new weapon underneath the folds of her cloak, and she walks as fast as she can, controlling the urge to run. She mutter prayers to every God and Goddess, and even a few to the Dark Lord himself. ‘See me home safe’.

Then she hears the lone hooting of an owl, and the noise startles her into running the rest of the way home. She hikes her skirt up above her knees, and pounds her feet down the path, crunching fallen leaves under her boots. She still has the Stiletto in a death grip, but is not as mindful of it as she should be. Sara feels something sharp slide against her outer thigh, and a hot wetness slides down her leg and soaks her stocking. She curses her own foolishness, how has she cut herself with her own damn knife? No one need attack her when she can do it herself! But she doesn’t stop running to check the wound, and when she sees her cottage through the trees she laughs in relief. When she is safely inside, she locks the doors and shutters the windows, then she laughs some more, this time at her silliness. It was only an owl, and look, she's gone and sliced herself like a ham! But at least she’s home safe, and the Ghouls should be dropping by with the rest of her things soon. Now she can see to the wound on her leg. It’s thankfully shallow, a little deeper than a scratch, but not deep enough to be stitched. As she cleans and bandages it, she realizes this cut was not unlike a blood sacrifice; her prayers were answered after all. Didn’t she make it home more or less safely? She remembers what her Mama told her when she was initiated as a young witch: “Every prayer that passes our lips and every spell we conjure has a price to pay. Sometimes we pay it with blood,”

Much later, when Sara is mixing possets, Water and Earth arrive with her dresses, shawls, and bonnets, all packed in neat black boxes embossed with gold Grucifixes. Their sleek elegance is incongruous to the rustic quality of her cottage, but she still clears off the table so they can set the packages down, and she realizes she’s running out of space to put all her gifts and tokens from Papa Emeritus.

“Did Papa tell you about the masquerade ball?” Earth asks, watching her open the rectangular boxes with the dresses. He picks up Arrow, and the cat nestles comfortably in his arms.

“Yes,” Sara replies, trying to figure out if she can fold the gowns without wrinkling them too badly.  
“He also mentioned a ceremony,”

“What did he say about it?” Water asks. She does not miss the meaningful glance between the two Ghouls. They know something.

“Not much.” She shrugs, as she hangs up shawls on the wall pegs by the door.  
“It sounded important, but he wouldn’t give me any details. Would either of you know? I can’t imagine you’d tell me,”

Both the Ghouls shake their heads, crossing their arms.

“Not this time,” Water says.

“This time you’ll wait for Papa to tell you himself,” Earth adds.  
“And don’t try to bribe us with your cakes,”

Sara scoffs at that and throws herself into a chair. Of course they won’t tell her. As for the cakes, well…she was going to offer them anyway.

“If it’s that important, I suppose I shall wait.” She sighs.  
“But have some cakes anyway,”

Three days pass before she is summoned by Papa Emeritus. Three long days she spends attending expectant and new mothers. A posset here, a potion there. She makes her own cider, and the pumpkins in her garden ripen. But the whole time, all she can think about is Papa’s ceremony. She has not convinced a single Ghoul to tell her what it is. All she can surmise is that it’s deeply important. Sara’s mind turns to thoughts of marriage. Is that what the ceremony is, some kind of marriage or betrothal ritual? Years ago, she had hoped to become Rob’s wife. She had waited for a ring, or some other token to accompany his sweet words, but he broke things off before it could happen. Now she wonders if Papa Emeritus will fulfill a long forgotten dream for her.

But could a Child of the Goddess and the head of the Unholy Church marry? Did his church allow intermarriage? Would she have to convert? Would she have to give up her own traditions? Would he treat her differently if she were his consort, and not just his mistress? Then there’s the subject of children; would they have children? She has always wanted to be a mother someday. Sometimes, when she and Papa Emeritus are making love, she has to resist the temptation to demand he give her a child. But her better sense prevails each time; having the town suspect her as a witch was bad enough as it was, to be pregnant with the spawn of antipope would send this town into a frenzy. The Goddess only knew what these people would do. ‘Perhaps it is time to leave this place’ the witch thinks. It is not the first time she has had this thought.

Finally, Papa sends a Ghoul for her. Omega appears out of thin air, as she is looking at a display of oranges. She can finally afford them, and she’s wondering if she ought to get a few to make into preserves. Aware of someone standing beside her, Sara turns. When she sees who it is, her smile is one of joy…and some relief.

“Papa Emeritus wants you to come,” the Ghoul announces, with an incline of his head. The witch giggles at the innuendo, and without hesitation, takes his offered arm.

“Certainly,” she says cheerily, eager to see her Emeritus after three long days.  
“The pleasure will be all mine,”

Omega chuckles, and spirits her away. Unlike with Water or Papa, there is no sound this time. No sound, only a deep indigo colored mist, and the faint smell of incense. It is quick, and when the sweetly perfumed fog clears, Sara finds they have arrived in the estate’s courtyard, where Papa sits on a stone bench, waiting. He’s wearing his black and white suit, and muttering under his breath as if rehearsing a speech. Emeritus looks up, and sees his witch standing before him. She’s in the plum and black dress today, wrapped in a black silk shawl to ward off the October chill. The black silk bonnet, trimmed in plum ribbon, frames her face perfectly.

“Ah, here you are!” He says, standing up. After three long days, it is so good to see her again.  
“Thank you, Omega,”

Sara also thanks him, and the Ghoul bows to the couple, and gracefully takes his leave. Now Papa and the witch are alone, standing a respectful distance apart, and eyeing each other with barely restrained joy and desire.

“Will you walk with me?” Papa Emeritus asks, holding out his hand.

“Not until you kiss me,” She says, bold as brass.  
“I’ve thought of your kisses for three terribly long days,”

Papa chuckles and pulls her in close so he can press his mouth against hers, parting her lips with his tongue. He makes it a long kiss, running his fingers along her bare neck, and cupping a breast in the other hand. Sara melts into his embrace, twining her arms around his neck and rejoicing in being with him again. It is with great reluctance that they come up for air.

“There’s your kiss,” Emeritus says, his voice husky with desire. Sweet Satan he’s dying to have her, but it must wait. There are more pressing matters at hand.  
“Now walk with me,”

He tucks her arm through his and leads her to the estate’s sprawling gardens. Once perfectly trimmed and beautifully kept, they boasted a mirror-like pond, a hedge labyrinth, fountains with dancing water and a surfeit of statues, the grounds were now overgrown and neglected. Flowers and vines now grew with a wild, tangled abandon, and the pond was covered in the yellow leaves of the weeping willow. The labyrinth supposedly had a very aggressive badger in it, the fountains were broken and dirty and vandals had damaged most of the statues. Papa tells her he intends on having everything renovated and restored in spring, if possible.

“I don’t know, my love,” Sara says, looking around. The trees bear their fall foliage, bright as fire, and what’s still green is surprisingly lush. She even finds the busted and defaced statuary strangely charming, amusing even; someone’s broken the marble dicks off a few of them. Where were they now?  
“There’s a beauty in decay, in nature reclaiming the artifice mankind has thrust upon her,”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Emeritus says, doing a small double-take at the castrated statues, but appreciating everything else. He tries to see things through her eyes, the eyes of someone who worships at the altar of nature, this child of the Great Mother Goddess.

He guides her onto a gravel path lined with rows of cypresses overgrown with tangles of ivy. It’s fairly secluded, and it’s here that Papa Emeritus ditches the formalities and casually drapes an arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. She twines an arm around his waist in return, feeling a thrill at the proximity of their bodies, even through layers of clothes. He’s fallen uncharacteristically silent, and she wonders what he’s planning, if he’s going to ask her about that ceremony. She’s been waiting three days…

Papa has started to hum softly now, one of many of the songs he and the Ghouls liked to sing. They had a litany of them, some praising their  dark lord and master, others celebrating infamous sinners or the birth of the antichrist. But this song, oh this is the one he sang to her in bed, the night he came to the cottage and they made love. Sara finds herself humming along, and soon hers and Papa’s voices are joined together, sweet and harmonious. By the time they finish the last verse, they are standing in front of a small black marble structure. It is a Grecian styled temple, with a circle of thick columns supporting a gilded roof.

“The noble family that owned this house belonged to the Unholy Church, you’d be surprised how many dukes and duchesses have sold their souls to Satan,” Emeritus says, leading her up the steps. Clouds have rolled in from the east, and it looks likely to start raining. Such fickle weather, this autumn.

Under the roof, Sara marvels at what she sees. The black marble floor is veined in white, and there are friezes painted with elemental symbols, pentagrams and Satanic crosses. And there are busts of various demons. It’s all beautiful, albeit somewhat daunting. Some of the demons bear formidable expressions, and their eyes seem to follow her every movement. But Papa is here, his hand resting gently on her back, reassuring her that he’s there.

“They were great favorites of my brother, this particular clan. Not that it did their last heir any favors when he was dying from the pox,” He says with a shrug.

Rain starts to fall in soft sheets, and the witch pulls her shawl tighter around her body. He didn’t summon her just to talk about the history of the manor, did he? But before she can ask him, he falls silent, and to her great surprise, he’s looking at her shyly. More than shy, he looks...nervous. The suave and debonair Papa Emeritus looks nervous.

“I summoned you here to ask you something,” He says at last, and she can hear the tremble in his voice.  
“The ceremony I had mentioned, it’s…a soul binding ceremony. Like marriage, but…deeper, quite like your people’s Handfasting Ceremony…”

Before she can say anything, Emeritus drops to his knees before her, and clasps her hands between his gloved ones. She freezes, and gazes into his eyes, seeing love, adoration, and something she’s never seen there before: need.

“Sara, my witch, my love…would you do me the greatest honor of joining with me, binding yourself to me body and soul. More than a mistress, you would be my consort, the queen of my heart,”

She wants to say yes, more than anything she wants to just say yes without any hesitation. But something tugs at her…

“I…I wouldn’t have to give up my ways, would I? I’ve been a Child of the Goddess my whole life. I will honor your Dark Lord and Master, but please do not part me from my Gods and Goddesses.” She says in a rush, nervous. What if he says no? Could she bear that?

“Never,” Papa whispers fervently.  
“I want you to be happy. I want you to have your every desire,”

As always, his eyes do lot lie to her. He means to keep his promises. Tears of joy, the very first in her life, fall onto his upturned face. He closes his eyes as if he’s been blessed.

“Then, yes,” Sara nods.  
“Yes my love, I will be your consort. I will bind myself to you, body and soul, and go wherever you shall go until the end of my days,”

She collapses to her knees before him, and falls into his arms. They cling to each other, and Papa Emeritus is kissing her feverishly; lips, face, and neck. He hasn’t been this happy since he took his brother’s place as Papa. His witch has said yes! He had been worried she would say no; he knew how much she valued her freedom, and here she is saying yes! But his profound joy gives way to his more primal feelings of desire. It has been three days since he’s seen her last. Combine this with the triumph of her saying yes to the Binding Ceremony, and he’s overcome with the need to claim her then and there.

“I will treat you like a queen,” He purrs to her, slowly pulling her shawl away to kiss her shoulders; the low neckline of her gown has left them conveniently bare.

Sara sighs in delight at the sensation of his lips on her skin. It has been three days since he last touched her. She was already dying for him to have her, and the joy of their coming union only makes her desire stronger. His hands are wandering down her chest and waist, grabbing handfuls of her skirt.

“Anything you could ever want will be yours,” Papa continues, pausing briefly to remove his gloves, before slipping a hand under her petticoats. He groans against her skin when he realizes she’s naked underneath the layers of silk and muslin; the bold little minx isn’t wearing any pantalettes.

“I want you,” she gasps, as he dips a hand between her legs, finding her heat.

Emeritus chuckles indulgently, and plunges two fingers inside her, while his thumb searches for her pearl. The Witch moans when he finds it, and starts to stroke it gently, teasingly. Her head falls back in the pleasure of it, and his free hand pulls her bonnet off, and shakes her hair loose of its pins, so many pins, until it tumbles down her shoulders and back in lush ringlets. She is losing herself in the pleasure of his touch, until she glances over at the demon busts. So many staring eyes…they may be stone, but they still unnerve her. She freezes up suddenly, and Papa stops when he notices the shift in her body language.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He asks, tenderly, pulling his hand out from under her skirts.

“Those busts are watching us.” She says shyly, feeling no better than a superstitious peasant jumping at shadows.

Papa’s face falls suddenly. Her apprehension around the busts has reminded him of a very important matter. He should have told her more about the ritual before he asked her, and made sure she knew what she was getting into before she agreed to anything!

“There’s a part of the ceremony you need to know about, I should have told you from the first…” He says nervously.  
“After we make our vows to each other, you’ll be taken to another room, washed and then dressed in a white shift. Then you will be brought back out, and we’re supposed to consummate our union before witnesses on the altar. A few members of the clergy, and the Nameless Ghouls, to be exact,”

Sara blushes deeply at the thought of so many people seeing her at her most intimate and vulnerable, and Emeritus worries that it will be too much for her. If she can’t do it, he will not force her, either. But truthfully, it is not too much for her at all. Her own people have such ceremonies, especially at Beltaine. A handsome couple is chosen, painted and masked, and then they are put to bed as the God and Goddess. It’s just that she’s never been the chosen maiden before. Until today, that is. Papa has chosen her, hasn’t he?

“Is it too much for y-” He begins, but she shakes her head no.

“It’s not,” she says.  
“My own people have similar rituals...besides, Alpha’s already seen us once, why not the rest of the Ghouls?”

Papa chuckles in relief, and at her quip about Alpha. There she goes surprising him, again.

“Very well, and who knows…” he purrs seductively.  
“You might enjoy having an audience. All those eyes on you, admiring your lush and delicious curves, watching you give in to pleasure…watching me claim you as mine…”

His purr turns to a soft, lustful growl and he takes her gently by the chin to guide her mouth to his for a deep and hungry kiss. His tongue tastes hers, and his teeth nip at her lips while his other hand pushes his hand down the front of her bodice, trying to unclasp the front busk of her corset, desperate to get at her, to touch her. It’s been three days since he touched her. When his fingers make contact with soft flesh and a hardened nipple, Sara gasps delightedly. The sound makes him growl again.

Still kissing furiously, Emeritus lowers her to the temple floor. Always considerate, he pauses to ball up her silk shawl to make a cushion for her head. She giggles and then gasps at the shock of cool air against her bare skin. Papa has pushed her skirts up to her waist, and is now opening his jacket and trousers hastily. Once his length is freed, he doesn’t hesitate to descend upon her. Sara moans as he rubs against her quim, teasing her, waiting for her to beg him to fuck her. Refusing to give him that satisfaction, she grasps his cock in her hand and guides him inside her.

“Impatient, are we?” Papa groans, even as he revels in the feel of her velvety warmth.

“Shut up and swive me, Emeritus,” she pants into his ear.

He cannot help but chuckle. She may be dressed like a lady, but she speaks like a common doxy, sometimes. That’s part of her charm, though. He does as she so bluntly demands and starts to move inside her. The rain falls harder now; they can both hear it pattering on the gilded roof and dripping from the eaves, even above their satisfied gasps and growls. Sara is reminded of the first time he ever made love to her, how the thunderstorm raged against the windows as Papa Emeritus initiated her into pleasure. At the time, she had no idea she would agree to bind her soul to him. She had only thought about how badly she needed him. Now they are here, lying on the cold marble floor of a temple, celebrating a most unorthodox engagement. His thrusts are slow and deep, and the Witch has wrapped her legs around him tightly. The heels of her boots are poking into his back, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the sweet sounds she’s making, way she feels beneath him, and the words she’s whispering in his ear.

“By the Goddess, I love you,” she declares, running her fingers through his hair, and allowing herself to wander in his eyes. There is no paradise as sweet as this.

“I love you too,” he replies.  
“You are my goddess, you know that? Let me always worship at your temple of bliss,”

At those words he reaches between them so he can tease her pearl, letting her know exactly what part of her body he considers to be the Temple of Bliss. All the while his thrusts continue, slow and hard. Her pleasure builds and builds, and she finds herself whimpering desperately. The sound spurs something in him, and he speeds his pace some.

“I want you to scream for me,” He growls, one hand grasping her hip tightly, the other still rubbing her slowly.

“Then don’t hold back,” The Witch pants, flashing him a foxy grin, the bold vixen that she is.  
“Fuck me harder than this. I know you can,”

Papa Emeritus shudders in delight at her words. She wants it harder?

“You want me to be rough with you?” he growls in her ear. For emphasis, he nips at the tender flesh of her neck, and she whimpers again.

“Yes!” She gasps, thinking of how he’d been with her three days ago on the throne. His nails had dug into her soft skin, he’d pulled her hair, and she’d been surprised to find how much she enjoyed it.  
“Please be rough with me, mark me so the whole village knows I’m yours,”

“Very well,” Papa says. He snatches both of the Witch’s wrists in his hands, pulling her arms up above her head and pinning her to the marble floor.  
“If it becomes too much for you, I can stop,”

At those words, his thrusts increase in speed, and he’s burying himself into her as deeply as he can. Even so, he watches her face carefully for signs of discomfort, but there’s nothing of the sort. Her expression is one of her pure pleasure, and the gasps she’s making are from delight. Emeritus grins, then drops his head back to her neck, biting and sucking at her skin as hard as he can without drawing blood. Sara’s gasps turn into cries, but she does not ask him to stop. She is reveling in her total surrender to him; her every sense aflame. She can hear as much as feel his hips slapping against her, accented with pleased growls rumbling from his throat as he continues to mark her with his teeth. The air smells of rain and their desire, and she finds herself holding her breath, with her toes curling inside her boots, and her legs shaking.

“I-I’m close!” Sara manages to pant into his ear. At that he chuckles into the crook of her neck, and deftly slides one of his hands from her wrists, down between her legs, to finish what he had started earlier by teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“Now scream for me,” he growls softly against her skin.

The words have barely left his lips when she finds herself coming apart underneath him. Papa gets the scream he so desired, along with the dizzying sensation of her inner muscles clenching around his length as each wave of pleasure claims her. He groans, and almost falters in his movements, but he does not stop. Her ecstasy encourages him; he sinks his teeth into soft flesh of her shoulder and thrusts harder, determined to reach his own end now. But barely has the Witch’s first orgasm ended when she’s finds herself coming again. Emeritus wasn’t expecting this second wave of spasms, and he bites her roughly in his surprise. Too rough maybe, he can taste something bright and coppery. Sara feels a bloom of pain mingling with her pleasure, and something wet, but it doesn’t matter. She asked him to mark her. _Everything has a price, and sometimes we pay it in blood._

“Mine,” he pants, and then with a pleased cry of his own, he finally finishes. He comes hard, and she gasps at the feeling of his seed spreading inside her.

Then it is over; they are both calm and still. Papa holds her tightly, surveying the damage to her neck and shoulders. He’s left signs of his passion, red splotches from where he suckled too hard, and a decent amount of blood from where he bit her. He feels a rush of sudden guilt; he wasn’t too rough with her, was he? Is she afraid of him now? But he looks into her eyes, and sees they’re glazed in pleasure. Even so…

“Are you alright?” He asks Sara tenderly.  
“Did I hurt you?

“It smarted a little when you bit me,” she says candidly, and he looks at the small ring of teeth marks with a wince.

“My love, I’m sorry…” Emeritus begins, but she shakes her head and kisses him. She can taste her own blood on his lips.

“I asked you to mark me, I will wear it with pride,” Sara whispers, running her fingers through his hair.  
“What is a little blood? You’re forgiven, my love,”

The rain is still falling, and they see no reason not to stay exactly the way they are and wait out the storm in the temple of the shelter. Lying on the floor, their bodies still joined together, Papa and the Witch are perfectly warm. Outside the microcosm created by their love, the Ghouls are preparing for All Hallow’s Eve. They knew she would say yes, not a single one of them doubted she would say yes, so they have already set about making preparations for both the masquerade and the ceremony afterwards.  
But outside the estate, in the village beyond, there is to be no celebrating. Father Augustine has received his reply from the Bishop. It does not bode well:

_“Among Heretics, these ‘men’ are known as Papa Emeritus and his Nameless Ghouls. Represent an unholy faction that worships Lucifer and celebrates blasphemy; they are incredibly dangerous, as they are fond of corrupting the innocent and encouraging sin. Usually, when Papa and the Ghouls curse a town with their presence, they only remain a few days. They wreak utter havoc, and try to gain new followers with promises of wealth and happiness. The only reason they have stayed in Oakfell as long as they have is because of this woman you have described to me. I believe she is a witch, and quite possibly their concubine as well, as creatures like Papa and his Ghouls are drawn to her kind. I am appalled that you have allowed a witch to live. She has repaid you for your mercy by bringing the devil to your town. To drive away the anti-pope and his minions, you must destroy the Witch. Gather your evidence now and wait for my arrival.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The temple in this chapter is inspired by The Temple of Love in the gardens of the palace of Versailles. It's the same shape, but goth!


	10. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa and the Witch are betrothed, with big plans to celebrate their union. But will all go according to plan? And what about the townspeople of Oakfell? Will they accomplish the bishop's order to destroy the Witch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, I make no profit, and neither Papa or the Ghouls are intended to represent any actual person, living or dead. This chapter is NSFW, and features oral sex, a shirtless ghoul, heavy costume porn and fancy, pimped out dresses.

At long last, it is All Hallow’s Eve. Also known as Samhain to the Witch and her people, it has always been her favorite Sabbat, even as a child. In those days she and her sisters donned disguises and ate sweets, while telling each other the scariest stories they knew. The adults made offerings to The Dead, and danced by the fire singing old songs. Everyone took part in the divination rituals, dropping candle wax into water, and reading mother’s battered tarot cards. Who would get married? Who would have babies? Who would die? 

When she settled in Oakfell, it surprised her to find out that the residents did none of these things. A superstitious lot, they locked themselves in all night, scared of ghosts and demons. No feasting, no costumes, no games. They didn’t even bob for apples. When she asked Rob what they did, he mumbled something about prayer and bible reading. If she wanted to celebrate properly, she had to travel to wherever her family was camped, or go to a more progressive town and find a festival.

But this year is different. This year, Sara has a very good reason to stay in Oakfell. It is hers and Papa’s Soul Binding Ceremony tonight; after a grand masquerade ball where she will be introduced his father, his brothers, the whole clergy, and Satan knows who else. The momentous events are drawing excited members of the Unholy Church to the little town, all of them buzzing with questions. Who was this witch who had captured Papa’s heart? Was she really a Child of the Goddess? Did you know the First and Second Emeriti are making their first public appearances in years to see this witch?

Oakfell’s pious residents watch from their windows in horror as carriages packed with heretical strangers rattle through the town square on their way to the manor. More alarming than this, are the people sneaking out of their houses in masks and cloaks. Alderman Seymour’s daughter Jane is among them, and all the girls who work at the tavern. People’s maids are not there to serve dinner, or turn down beds, and no one can find their stable hands and apprentices. Even a few errant husbands and wives have disappeared. But their parents, spouses and masters are busy trembling over bible pages and mumbling prayers. Frozen with fear and ignorance, they dare not venture outside, God forgive them. None of them know why the town is flooded with strangers, or why their friends and neighbors are going out on a night where demons and the dead walk the earth. What is happening at that old estate? All they know that somehow, the Witch is at fault. None of this would be happening if she hadn’t summoned Papa Emeritus and his Ghouls here! For years they’ve tolerated her presence, let her live and trade among them, and look how she repays their kindness and mercy! 

The Witch for her part is unaware of the vitriol currently brewing against her, occupied as she is with preparations for the evening’s events. Freshly bathed, and her hair finally dry, she has recruited Papa Emeritus to lace her into her corset. 

“I’m better at getting women out of them,” he jests.

“Very funny,” Sara says tartly, as she wraps her hands around a bedpost to brace herself.  
“Just lace me up, please,”

“Very well,” Papa grumbles, and starts to pull the strings of her corset as tight as he can.

Each tug makes her gasp, and it makes him think of the noises she makes when he fucks her particularly hard. He growls softly, his cock stirring; he hasn’t heard such sweet sounds from her in many days. Church tradition dictates that a couple engaging in a Soul Binding must abstain from most sexual relations for five days before the ceremony. Emeritus could not spend his seed during these days; apparently the denial is thought to make the ritual’s magic more potent. The instructions Sister Imperator had sent however, said nothing about whether or not the Witch was forbidden from having an orgasm. In a gesture of solidarity, Sara had turned down Papa’s offers of pleasing her with his mouth or hands. They would suffer nearly a week of celibacy and denial together.

“Harder!” Sara snipes through gritted teeth. She does not mean to snap at him. Between the preparations for the Masquerade and the Binding ceremony, greeting guests who’ve arrived early, and helping the Ghouls move her belongings to the manor, the Witch is stretched thin. These factors combined with her anxieties about disappointing her beloved’s family and congregation, the fear that she is not good enough, and the lack of sex have rendered her tense and moody.

‘I must do something to get her to relax,’ Papa thinks to himself as he obliges her. ‘She cannot be this high-strung when she meets Father, and the others,’

Meanwhile, he can still feel his cock twitching and stirring within the confines of his dressing gown. It’s still a few hours until the Consummation Ritual, where they will come together as one. He can wait a little longer; he’s doing surprisingly well, but what of his beloved? His poor, tense beloved? 

At last, Papa’s task is done; Sara’s corset is laced, nipping in her waist, and pushing up her breasts. Without a word, he pulls her from the bedpost she had been clutching and holds her to him. Hands roving over her body, he starts to kiss and bite the back of her neck. The Witch gasps in surprise, and pleasure, and melts into his embrace. But even so…  
“Oh my Dear Heart, we have to wait…” she moans, as Papa Emeritus grinds his hardness against her bottom. 

“Don’t I know it,” he growls against her skin.

“And Sister Imperator will know…” she adds.

Sara had been presented Sister Imperator the week before, when she arrived to oversee the final preparations for the Ceremony, and to make sure the couple did not break the temporary vow of celibacy. The formidable older woman had looked the Witch up and down; taking in her scarlet satin dress with the gigot sleeves and a shoulder baring neckline, her dark hair braided and arranged with fancy combs. The Sister herself was elegantly dressed in black silk, with a silver Grucifix dangling from a black ribbon tied around her throat, clearly a lady of refined taste. She gave Sara an approving nod, and said to Papa (who had been lurking in the back wringing his hands nervously):

“Very lovely. Better than I expected, Emeritus.”

Sara had wanted to ask Sister Imperator what she it was that she had expected, but thought it better to hold her tongue. For days afterward, the Witch silently wondered what the woman had thought she would be like; she just didn’t dare ask. But she’s not thinking of that awkward first meeting right now. The only thing on her mind is the feel of Papa’s lips and teeth on her skin, his cock pressing against her through the layers of her petticoats. His hands are cupping her breasts through the whalebone and cloth that restrains them.

“It will be alright,” he purrs, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his lap. He continues kissing and gently biting her neck as he talks.  
“Only I am not allowed to come. I know you wanted to wait with me, and I am touched by the gesture. But my love, you are so nervous, so tense. I want to help you relax, please let me take care of you,”

He takes her chin in his hand and pulls her in for a deep kiss. Sara cannot deny that she has been on edge for days, and that the sexual frustration has not made matters better. No pleasure games in the library or throne room. Sister Imperator watched them like a hawk, the chaperone to end all chaperones. At night, her familiar, Arrow slept between them. If they tried to touch, the cat would bat at them with her paws. Clearly the Sister and the Cat were colluding.

But the Witch is not thinking of that right now. Her mind is focused solely on Papa’s tongue probing her mouth softly, on his hands running up and down her body, and his hips grinding against her bottom. Her desire grows by the moment. She does need to calm down before the masquerade starts, and if he has a way to help her, then she ought to take it. She breaks the kiss to give consent:

“Yes, help me please,” she gasps.  
“Take care of me, Emeritus,”

Papa gives a pleased growl, and flips Sara onto the mattress in one swift motion. She lands on her back, and he slides on top of her, his hardness rubbing against her thighs. He recaptures her mouth with his, kissing her hard before moving his lips down her neck and over her cleavage. She gasps and sighs at each nip of his teeth and flick of his tongue. Abruptly, he lifts his head and shushes her.

“Hush, my love. I will help you, but you must be quiet. We don’t want Sister Imperator to hear us and think the worst,” Papa Emeritus whispers.

He sits back up so he can push Sara’s petticoats up to her waist, and pull off her drawers. She parts her legs for him, and he settles between them. Hot kisses travel up and down her thighs, before gently covering her mound. She is holding her breath in anticipation, waiting for his mouth to go lower. When his lips and tongue finally find her heat, the Witch can’t help herself, she gasps out his name. Papa raises his head to shush her again, his fingers teasing her entrance as he does so. Sweet Satan, she feels divine. To think that he cannot have her until The Witching Hour! Desperate to feel more of her, he plunges two fingers inside her. She croons loudly at this, bucking her hips when he curls them inside her, finding the sweet spot that brings the deepest pleasure. 

“Shush, bad girl. What did I tell you about staying quiet?” He softly scolds.  
“Do you want Imperator to come barging in here?”

Sara responds to this by pushing Papa’s face back where it belongs: between her thighs. He chuckles against her flesh, and continues what he started with his mouth. Licking and sucking, determined to bring her to climax. Except, she can’t stop moaning; oh, she’s trying to stay silent, biting her knuckles and lips in an effort to contain herself. But then he’ll flick his tongue just so, or thrust his fingers just right, and she just can’t help it. She’s getting louder and louder; desperate not to be caught, Papa lifts himself from between her legs and covers her mouth with his left hand.

“If you cannot keep yourself quiet, I shall have to do it for you,” He growls in her ear. The fingers of his other hand are still thrusting inside her, and now he’s circling her pearl with his thumb even as he reprimands her. She moans into his palm at the sensation, the sound muffled.  
“You’re going to get us in trouble, my naughty wench,”

As he continues to push her closer to the edge, Papa removes his hand from her mouth and replaces it with his own. Keeping her silent with a deep kiss, the Witch can taste herself on his lips and tongue. His fingers never stop their work, stroking faster and faster. Soon enough she is coming hard, screaming into Papa’s mouth, and drenching the sleeve of his dressing gown with her juices. When the spasms subside draws away his hand and breaks the kiss. 

“That was delightful,” Papa Emeritus says, sucking his fingers clean.  
“And do you feel better, my love? More relaxed?”

“Mmhmm,” Sara hums contentedly. Yes, she definitely feels calmer now.

“Good,” He replies, getting out of bed and making for the washstand. He’s still hard, and a wash in some cold water will help him suppress his lust for a little while longer.

As Papa pours icy water into a porcelain bowl, the Witch rolls out of bed to shake out her petticoats and search for her drawers. It’s time to finish getting ready. Her costume waits for her on a dressmaker’s form, a gorgeous, pale lilac colored gown with full skirts and little puff sleeves similar to those on her white gown. The fabric is iridescent, catching tones of blue and pink in the light when she moves. The bodice is worked with crescent moons, suns and stars made of gold thread, as is the skirt. There’s a pair of gold net wings to match the dress, and nearby is her mask, also gold and patterned with moons, suns and stars. Papa’s costume is next to hers, a white suit trimmed with gold. But he doesn’t have a mask; Sara asks why.

“With a face like this, who needs a mask?” Papa jests. The Witch will later learn that he only uses self-deprecating humor when he’s nervous.

“Maybe your face is too handsome to hide,” She giggles, peppering his cheeks with playful kisses.  
“Here, let’s get dressed.”

They help each other into their costumes; Sara especially needing assistance with her bouffant skirts, and the tiny buttons on the back of her bodice. When they are finished, Papa summons Air. The Ghoul has a surprising talent as a hairdresser, and helps the Witch with the final touches to her toilette. He arranges her curls and then tops them with a diadem of gold celestial bodies to match the trim on her dress. Gold dust is applied to her décolletage and cheeks; rosewater is applied. The final effect is stunning, and both Papa and Air step back to admire her.

“You are perfect,” Papa Emeritus says fervently.  
“Except for one thing…”

He opens a small jewelry casket to reveal a gorgeous parure. Necklace, earrings, bracelets and brooch made up of gold, lavender-blue opals, and white pearls. The brooch is shaped like the Triple Moon symbol painted on her wall, and the motif repeats with the rest of the pieces. Sara cannot help herself; she gives a squeal of pure delight that gives way to tears of joy. Air hastily offers her a handkerchief, not wanting to see his work ruined. 

“Do you like them?” Papa asks, almost shyly. He had the set commissioned the day after he had visited her cottage for the first time, and seen the symbols painted above her bed. It was almost entirely a coincidence that they had been finished just in time for the Masque and Rituals.

The Witch reaches out and touches the gems as if she cannot believe they are real. They must have cost him a fortune, and yet he had them made for her, a common midwife’s assistant. Born and raised in the back of a wagon, and resigned to living out her days as a spinster; she never expected her life to turn out like this. She is beloved of a Prince of the Unholy Church and treated like no less than a princess. 

“They’re too fine for me,” She blurts out, drawing her hand back as if the jewels were hot.  
“I don’t des-"

Papa Emeritus cuts her off with a firm kiss to the mouth. Then he pulls away and gently takes Sara’s chin in his hand.  
“Nonsense,” he says with passion.  
“You deserve them. I want to give you your every desire, and treat you like a queen. Air, help me put these on her.”

The Ghoul, who had been holding the velvet lined casket during Papa and the Witch’s embrace; nods and complies. Soon they are affixing jewels to her body, Air pushing the earrings through her lobes and clasping bracelets to her wrists, while Emeritus fastens the necklace. Finally he pins the brooch to the low neckline of her gown, just below the deep well of her cleavage. Then he dismisses Air, giving the Ghoul time to prepare his own costume for the masquerade. They are alone again. Papa Emeritus takes Sara by the waist and pulls her close to him cover her with kisses and playful bites to the neck.

“Tonight my love…tonight will be the happiest night of our lives,” He purrs, waltzing her about the room in a little dance.  
“First, a delightful masquerade, and then…”

He trails off, stops dancing and holds her tightly to him, nuzzling her neck. His eyes are stormy with desire and love.

“You will be mine,” Papa Emeritus growls against her skin, His voice is deeper than she’s ever heard it before.  
“And I will be yours. After the Ceremony, we will never be parted. Our merge will be eternal,”

“I never imagined this for myself,” Sara admits shyly.  
“I never thought anyone could ever love me. That I could ever love again. I bless the day you came to this little town,”

Papa doesn’t say a word, there’s no need for it. He knows what his arrival means for her. In another year or so, she would have given up, and let her heart turn to stone out of despair and lack of love. He merely kisses her forehead, hoping the tenderness of the gesture can convey his understanding.

“Now,” He says, changing the subject.  
“At the end of the night, you and I will be escorted to a special suite of rooms where we will spend seven days and seven nights alone together, as is my church’s tradition. During this time, the Ghouls will tie up all our loose ends; so that when our Bonding Week is over, we can leave as soon as possible. Maybe we could go somewhere warm?”

Leaving Oakfell. For five years, she’s made the best of it here, but now it is time for a new beginning, a new life. Bound to Papa Emeritus, she must go where he goes. Not that she minds; how strange it is that she feels more free than ever before! With her beloved, she doesn’t have to hide who she is, always be good, stay quiet and keep her head down. Besides, her people have never liked to stay in one place too long; she’s surprised she’s stayed in one place as long as she has.

“Someplace warm sounds lovely,” Sara says, remembering the warm, sunny beaches of her mother’s homeland, and the smell of salty air.  
“Will you take me to the sea?”

Papa chuckles indulgently and kisses her forehead again.

“Of course, yes, of course. Wherever you want to go, we’ll go. Whatever you desire, I will give you,” He says.  
“Suppose you were to want me to give you a chi-”

Alpha and Water barge in and interrupt Papa Emeritus with the announcement that the guests are arriving. Sister Imperator sent them to ask Papa and Sara what is taking so long. So it is time, then. The Witch pushes away her curiosity about whatever it was Emeritus was going to say to her. Perhaps she’ll remember to ask him later, when the long night is over.

“Let’s not keep her and our guests waiting, then!” Papa says brightly, as Sara rushes to get her mask tied on.  
“Are you ready, my love?

The Witch adjusts her mask a little, and checks her reflection in the nearest mirror. The top half of her face is strange and golden, but she still recognizes her mouth as her own. After biting her lips to bring them a little extra color, she turns to him, smiles and nods.

“I’m ready,” she says.

Papa Emeritus gently takes her arm in his. She has opted not to wear gloves, preferring to dust her bare arms with gold dust. He must be careful not to smear it on his white suit. Alpha and Water follow them out; they are in costume as well, each themed according to their respective element. Alpha is dressed as a Phoenix, in brilliant shades of orange, yellow scarlet and gold. The upper half of his face is covered by a feathered and beaked mask, but his mouth and chin are exposed. When he grins, the Witch is surprised to see several glinting gold teeth. Clad in contrasting shades of blue is Water, who’s supposed to be a Merman. He wears a crown of shells, and a silver and blue scaled mask. Like his brother Ghoul, the lower half of his face is exposed. Sara is struck with the same sense of intimacy she felt when she caught Omega smoking. Overall, she finds it strange seeing them out of their daily uniforms. This uncanny feeling is made no easier by the fact that Water is naked from the waist up, and has painted his bare shoulders, chest and arms in a pattern of blue swirls. He’s worn his hair loose as well, and the Witch is mesmerized by the color, length and texture of it. Like a golden field on an August day. Papa for his part is unfazed by his exposed Ghouls; other than to ask Alpha why there are golden pineapples on his waistcoat. But then again, even Papa’s appearance is more striking than usual. She’s never seen him in anything like this white and gold suit. It reminds her of an illustration from the book of fairy tales she learned to read on; Prince Charming at the ball. The Witch looks down at herself, wearing her own silks and gems. Has her life become some kind of strange fairy tale?

As the four of them walk through the candlelit corridors, Alpha and Water are discuss the former’s affair with Jane Seymour, the Alderman’s daughter.

“I invited her to join us tonight,” the Fire Ghoul announces.

“For the masque?” Water asks, his blue eyes darting between his brother Ghoul and Papa Emeritus. Is he nervous?  
“For the Masque and the Ceremony,” Alpha replies, which makes Water frown.

“Only Church Members are allowed at Binding Ceremonies,” Papa interjects, curtly.  
“I want her to become one of us,” the Ghoul says with a shrug.

“You just like corrupting the pious ones,” Water says with a snort.  
“Has she even shown interest in joining us?”

“And isn’t she the Alderman’s daughter?” Papa adds, and then he looks to Sara for confirmation. She nods.

“That doesn’t mean she can’t renounce him and join us. She wouldn’t be the first to do so.” Alpha insists.

“She cannot even begin the proceedings towards initiation until she’s been interviewed by Sister Imperator." Papa Emeritus says firmly.  
“You know that, and you’ll tell her that. If she’s serious about joining, she’ll have to,”

The Ghoul nods, knowing this is non-negotiable, and falls silent. The Witch can sense a tension between Papa and the Fire Ghoul. She knows Emeritus doesn’t trust Jane one bit, and frankly, neither does she. A few weeks of Alpha’s cock does not undo years of Jane’s glares and sanctimonious insults. If one must be honest, Sara has trouble understanding what the Ghoul finds in the Alderman’s pious daughter. Perhaps he really does just like the thrill of corruption.

But the matter is quickly forgotten when the small group approaches the open doors to the ball room. The Witch’s breath catches in her throat when she see the work that the Ghouls put into decorating the vast room. Black netting and gold gossamer festoon every possible surface, and artfully placed mirrors reflect glittering candelabra. There are silk cobwebs studded with gems, some of which are onyxes made to resemble spiders. Burning braziers give off a spicy sweet incense, and the room is packed with costumed and masked guests. Most are the Church’s congregation and clergy, but there are a few of Oakfell’s more rebellious townspeople as well. When the crowd realizes that Papa and the Ghouls have entered the ballroom, the chatter stops and there is a great cheer; but when their eyes fall on Sara in her dusky lavender silks and her glittering gold wings, a great hush descends upon them. Papa uses the silence to speak.

“My Unholy Revelers!” he says, and they all cheer again.  
“It pleases me to see you all on this most special All Hallow’s Eve. To celebrate the Thinning of The Veil, and to introduce you to my betrothed, my future consort.”

At those words, he takes Sara’s hand and leads her forward a few steps, presenting her to the crowd of guests. Her cheeks burn underneath her golden mask, as the crowd ripples with hushed whispers. She’s not accustomed to this many people paying attention to her at once; some have even taken out opera glasses to get a better look at her. As if she is some fascinating exhibition! But somehow, she manages to smile, and in a spontaneous gesture, she breaks away from Papa’s gentle grasp and sweeps into a deep and elegant curtsy. 

The guests clap in delight at this. When they had heard that Papa Emeritus had fallen madly in love with a witch of her origins, they hadn’t known what to expect. The speculation and rumors ran the gamut from the mild to the bizarre, from whispers of the Witch having tricked the Church Leader with a love potion, to her having been raised by wolves and having the horns of a ram. 

Before Sara can rise up, before Papa can say or do anything else, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. A humorous, accented voice says in a slight sing-song:  
“Brava, bravissima; very charming,”

She looks up, but does not rise from her curtsy. Standing before her is a man with mismatched eyes identical to Papa Emeritus’, clad in white, gold and red vestments encrusted with sparkling gems. His face also bears skeletal markings, but his are a more realistic design. The Witch recognizes him from a miniature portrait Papa keeps. It is Papa Nihil, Supreme Head of the Unholy Church, and Father of the Emeriti. Many centuries old, he looks no older than 65. Despite her awe, Sara manages to sink lower into her curtsy until she’s nearly on the floor, and bows her head in respect.

“Father,” Papa Emeritus begins.  
“I’m pleased to introduce you to-”

“The Witch? Yes, yes…” Nihil says, flapping his hand dismissively at his son.  
“I dreamed about her, I know exactly who she is,”

A warm, dry hand slides under her chin and lifts her face, forcing her to look at him. Sara can smell incense, cologne, and the same liniment Old Nan uses on her joints. Their eyes lock, and when they do, the memory falls on her like a hammer. How could she have forgotten? Last Samhain, she’d had a strange dream that, at the time, seemed to make no sense. In this dream, she had been swaddled in black lace like a widow in mourning. She wore so many layers that she could not see anything except vague shapes. In her hands she held something warm and wet; the tang of copper filled her nose. She spoke to someone, though she couldn’t see them: “I am for your son”. In the morning, she could not make heads or tails of the dream’s meaning, and in a few days had pushed it onto shelf in the back of her mind. But now she’s remembering last year’s dream, and Papa telling her how his father had predicted their meeting in a dream of his own…the details of hers and NIhil's dreams are parallel to each other almost as if... When it dawns on her, the Witch’s eyes widen and her lips open in a small gasp. Nihil smiles and nods, as if he’d been waiting for this reaction

“You remember now, don’t you girl?” He says with an indulgent chuckle so similar to her beloved’s.  
“Didn’t know you could visit the dreams of others, did you? Tell me, Witch, what name did your mother give you at the breast, and do you still go by it?”

“Yes, yes I do. My name is Sara,” she says softly. She can hear Papa Emeritus shuffling awkwardly behind her, and the whispering of the crowd; but her gaze stays on Nihil.

“Sara…Child of the Goddess, Queen of my son’s heart…filled with great potential…” He says slowly, and pauses. With a wave of his hand, music fills the room, and Papa Nihil raises the Witch from her curtsy. He is smiling broadly; she has never seen such straight and brilliant teeth on a man of his age.  
“Shall we dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa's white and gold suit is supposed to be the suit from the He Is music video. Watch it, then reread the chapter.


End file.
